Days of Summer
by Magali1
Summary: COMPLETE; Noah Street is relegated spend time with his grandparents in Dillon for an entire summer as punishment by Jason. Future; mostly Noah and OC POV; Appearances by Jason, Tim, Billy, Mindy, Tyra, and the rest of the gang.
1. Welcome to Hell

**A/N:**I really don't know where this fic came from, but I wanted to write something with Noah Street and Jason. It kind of became second generation FNL. I hope you all enjoy :) (The 'sequel' to A Gap Year following Tim and Lyla hit a snag, I need to fix some things and got more headway on this one). Enjoy!

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**_Chapter 1: Welcome to Hell_**

I'm in hell.

Noah stepped out of the airport and that was the first thing he thought. I'm quite literally in hell. It was a million degrees, the sun practically boiling him, even if he was wearing cargo shorts and a t-shirt. He tugged his baseball hat down a little lower over his eyes, shielding them from the sun. He trudged away from the door, stopping at the curb.

Seriously? There was like two doors and a car. He glanced up one end of the sidewalk to the other. What kind of an airport was this? They didn't even have a walkway to the airport, they had to climb down the stairs and walk across the tarmac. He shifted his backpack on his shoulder, dragging his carryon behind him, a duffel bag slung over his other shoulder. I'm not moving here, he'd tried to tell his mother, but she just kept packing. I better not be moving here. It wasn't his choice. If I had a choice, I wouldn't be in Texas for my punishment. I'd be shoveling trash off the highway like I was supposed to do, but no, his father got him out of that and sent him packing.

_I don't want you in my house this summer. You're going to stay with your grandparents. Maybe you'll finally learn some humility and discipline._

Grams never disciplined him, but he knew that Gramps would want him to help around the store. He had orders to report to some house on the outskirts of town, at his earliest convenience. Dad told him. Said that he'd learn from the best on how to actually grow up. Whatever that was supposed to mean.

I'm seventeen, what's the big deal? So I…Noah trailed off in his thoughts, recognizing his grandmother running towards him from the end of the sidewalk, where his grandfather was waving from the driver's seat of their minivan. "Noah!" Grams yelled, grabbing him around the neck. She squeezed hard, crying. "Oh my baby! Look at you! You're so big!"

Yeah, I'm seventeen. He couldn't remember the last time he saw them. Couple years ago, he thought, smiling and pulling away. "Hey Grams," he said, stepping back and shifting his bags on his arms again. Joanne was already grabbing the duffel bag, slinging it over her shoulder. She didn't look like a grandmother, but Noah figured that was because she'd been young when she had Dad and Dad had been a teenager when he had me.

Just one of those 'do as I say but not as I do' statements that his father liked to make and lessons he tried to preach. It just came off as annoying. So Noah did what you were supposed to do with annoying people and ignored it. Now look where that got him. A summer in Texas. He walked to the minivan, saying hello to his grandfather and putting his things in the back. He reached for his phone, removing it and making a move to text his friend Mike to let him know he was in the hellhole, when his grandmother reached back and plucked it from his fingertips. "Hey!" he exclaimed.

Joanne wagged it in his face. "Your father called and told us that after we saw you safe to the car that we had to take this away. I don't know what his purpose is, but if he's got a reason for it, I'll trust him. You can have it back when he says."

Oh my God. My father is still controlling me and I'm not even in the same time zone as him. Noah closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. He opened his eyes, trying to smile. They were his grandparents after all. He loved them. "So how are you guys?" he asked. It had been awhile since he'd seen them. Last Christmas, if he was remembering correctly.

"Better than you are I imagine," his grandfather drawled. He chuckled. "Jason didn't say exactly what you did to land a summer with us, but we're mighty glad that he decided to send you our way. We're redoing the kitchen and I could use some help grouting the tile. We've also got some landscaping work in the back and I need an extra hand in the shop. You up for some work?"

I'm supposed to be on vacation, Noah sighed. He shrugged, muttering. "Why the hell not?"

"What did you say son?" Mitchell demanded, hitting the brakes, turning and glaring at him. He frowned. "Did I hear you right?"

Ah…no swearing. Damn. Noah ran his tongue over his teeth, nodding and shrugging. "Sorry."

"Sir."

Damnit. He forgot about that crap down here. He nodded. "Sorry, sir," he mumbled, slumping in his seat. He closed his eyes, dropping his baseball hat over his eyes. He felt his grandmother clear her throat loudly, asking him about what he wanted to eat for dinner tonight because they were going to have chicken-fried steak.

That was not the first thing on his list if he ever had a choice. Noah shrugged. "Okay, I guess." Hell, he thought. I'm in hell. He glanced at a sign on the side of the road as they drove across the line into Dillon. It was a sign shaped like Texas. Good Lord, you didn't see a sign going into Brooklyn that was shaped like the borough. His fingers itched to text Mike and his girlfriend Amanda to let them know he was here. He wanted to bitch about the rinky-dink plane from Austin and the tiny airport and the stupid sign. He cleared his throat. "Gramps, do you have internet?" He had a sneaky suspicion that his computer was going to go to waste out here.

"Got rid of it after your dad left, we don't have use for it in the house."

Of course you don't. Noah bit his lip, to keep from saying something that they might take disrespectful. He sensed that was a big deal out here. He glanced out the window, leaning against it, while Joanne and Mitchell began to ask him about what it was like in Brooklyn, talking about the activities they had planned for him, and how they were going to really enjoy their time with their grandson all to themselves, even if his father dropped him on the first flight without so much as a twenty-four warning. Noah closed his eyes. He opened them a few minutes later, watching as they passed through what had to be small-town America at its finest. He saw something called the Alamo Freeze approaching them and cleared his throat. An escape! "Hey Grams, you mind if we stop and get something here? I'm just starving."

What he could do was con them into ice cream and then use the WiFi connection, because there had to be one, unless this place truly was hell, and fire off an email or a Facebook post or something to let this friends know he didn't die in transit to Dillon. Although he might die while he was here. That was to be determined.

"What a great idea," Joanne piped up.

Mitchell pulled the minivan into a parking spot. "Sure, let's get some ice cream, we didn't think that you might be hungry after that flight. We won't have dinner for a few hours yet. If you're not too tired, we'll stop and meet the Dillon High football coach and you can talk, maybe get some workouts in with the team this summer."

"Dad didn't take that from me?" he mumbled, but neither of them answered him. He thought for sure Jason would ensure that he wouldn't be involved in his favorite thing that summer.

The minivan came to a stop; the minute it did, Noah jumped from it. Thank God. He dragged his backpack with him into the building, looking up at the options. So this was like a Texas Dairy Queen, he figured, requesting that they order him a Swizzler with Oreo. He waited around, while his grandmother and grandfather agonized over their decisions, finally taking a step back from them and sneaking outside, waving at them through the window when they started looking around, gesturing to a table. Like he was going to pick a table.

That wasn't too difficult. He sat down at a table, whipping out his MacBook. Dad had told him he could bring it, but only for entertainment on the plane. You're not going to be using that in Dillon, he'd laughed, like it was the funniest thing in the world. Now he knew why Jason had been laughing when he packed it away. I hate my life, Noah thought, thinking of his father's big idea of a joke, sending him here. Joke, punishment, it was all the same to him. Noah turned the computer on, waiting…waiting…what the hell? "No WiFi?" he demanded out loud.

"Welcome to hell."

Who was that? Noah lifted his head, seeing a girl who looked a couple years younger than him approach. There were plenty of other kids milling around, but they were looking at him like he was an outsider, which he plainly was, with a computer and a Yankees baseball hat. He scowled. "Yeah, whatever." He tried to log on a different way, but there weren't any connections he could hop from. He sighed, lifting his eyes and seeing that she was still looking at him. He held his hands out. "What?" I'm a zoo animal, it seems.

The girl seemed older than what he pegged was probably junior-high age, wearing a flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up over a tank top that had lace peeking out from the front of the shirt. She had dark red hair pulled back in a knot on her head and curious hazel eyes. She wore ripped jeans and red Chucks. There was a messenger bag slung over her shoulder, bouncing on her hip. About a million bracelets filled her wrists and she had on a few different necklaces and earrings. She flashed him a quick smile. "Nothing, just looking at another outsider is all." She climbed up to sit on the table beside him, her feet resting on the bench. She popped some gum that had been hiding in her cheek. "There's not many people our age who come to Dillon for the summer."

"Our age?" he quipped.

The girl rolled her eyes. "I'm thirteen, you're what?" She shrugged. "Sixteen?"

"Seventeen," he snapped. Give me the extra year. In one more I'll be free of my father. He waved his hand. "Go away little girl, I'm busy. I don't need to entertain you."

"Us outsiders have got to stick together. You're from New York, yeah?"

Noah frowned. "How'd you know that?"

The girl made a face, reaching for his baseball hat and flicked the brim. "I'm not an idiot. Yankees?"

"Lots of people like the Yankees."

"And the Giants t-shirt?" She shrugged, cracking her gum, hopping off the table when his grandparents came over, setting down their ice cream. He closed his computer and shoved it away, lest they take away his last remaining communication device. He grabbed the ice cream cup, scowling at her. "Go away."

"Now, now," Mitchell chided him. He smiled at the girl, who was grinning at both of them. Did she know them, he thought, frowning again. His eyes were starting to hurt. "Hello there Frankie, how are you?"

"Great," Frankie chirped. She smiled at Noah and waved at his grandparents, taking a step away from the table. "It was nice seeing you Mr. and Mrs. Street. I'll come by in a few days, Mr. Street, with the order you put in with my dad. He's still waiting on the guy from Laribee to get the part to him."

"Tell him no rush, I just thought he could get it cheaper than I could."

"And he did. I'll get it to you soon."

Joanne gave her a quick little hug. "Oh it's good to see you again Frankie. Tell your dad he needs to stop by the house. Telephone contact doesn't count."

Frankie said she would, but the look crossing her face told Noah that she probably had already forgotten. There was also a short sneer when Joanne mentioned her father dropping by the house. She quickly turned her hazel eyes on his, lifting her fingers and waving. "See you around Noah."

How the hell did you know my name? He'd never seen that girl before in his entire life. What kind of a name was Frankie anyway? He stared, seeing her run down the street, disappearing behind the library. He glanced at Joanne, digging his spoon into his ice cream, nodding towards where she'd disappeared. "Who was that?"

"Oh that's Frankie." Like he should know who it was. Joanne swallowed a bit of her ice cream, pointing down the road. "She visits her father during the summertime, he's a friend of your father's. Good friend, actually. She lives in…honey where does she live most of the year?"

Mitchell frowned, trying to remember. He shook his head. "I'm not sure. I think somewhere in the Northeast."

"Might be Washington D.C."

"No it's somewhere in a state."

Who cared? It still didn't answer his question. Noah shoved another spoonful of ice cream into his mouth, closing his eyes and praying that this summer went by quickly. Hell, he might even be willing to get on the phone, a landline no doubt, and call his father and beg for forgiveness. His eyes slowly opened, the ice cream in his mouth melting on his tongue as he stopped moving it around. He swallowed, lifting his eyebrows slightly and reached for another spoonful.

Or he'd suck it up this summer. How long could eleven weeks be?


	2. Squeak

**A/N:**Don't worry, Frankie's not a love interest :) And as I'm writing this, I think it's chapter eight where we find out what Noah did. Thanks for the reviews, enjoy!

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**_Chapter 2: Squeak_**

I'm going to die here.

Noah sat on the bleachers of a football stadium at the high school, leaning over his knees and shredding grass. He didn't have a phone and only had internet when he lugged his computer to the public library. It was the slowest internet on record. He barely got a chance to just sit and do nothing. Mitchell woke him up at the crack of dawn and he had to stop making noise around nine or ten, when his grandparents went to sleep. His grandmother was a volunteer for the football team and told him he needed to come with her to make ribbons for the mothers and grandmothers. Yeah, no, he wasn't going to do that, so he'd escaped and was sitting around, wondering what he was supposed to do.

It had only been five days. Five damn days in Dillon, Texas, and he was ready to just die. Or apologize. Or not. Noah sighed, falling backwards on the bleachers, splaying his arms and legs out, closing his eyes and feeling the sun beat down on him. He was the only one in this town who wore shorts too for some reason. Kept getting looks. He'd been called "Jason Street's New York son" more times than he cared to count. This town was crazy obsessed with football. He knew it was, his father had told him enough stories, and his grandparents' involvement was enough. It was June though. End of June, but still June, what could they do in the off-season? Oh plenty, as there was already a fundraiser scheduled for Fourth of July to raise money. Noah had to help set up.

His high school in Brooklyn certainly didn't care this much. Mitchell told him that he'd have to take him by the head coach's house, sit him down and talk with Billy Riggins, maybe help out with the team or something. He'd told Billy, apparently, about Noah's stats at Stuyvesant Prep and Billy was interested in running some plays with him. Whatever. Couldn't get worse.

"You're in my spot."

Or maybe it could, Noah thought, his eyes slowly opening. He didn't move, waiting for whomever owned the voice to kick him out. He recognized it. It was the girl from the Alamo Freeze. No accent, just like him. The redhead leaned over him and poked his shoulder. "Hey, you're going to get melanoma," she said, passing him a bottle of sunscreen. "Put this on."

"You're not my mother."

The girl rolled her eyes. "No, but I can hear mine in my head. " The girl plunked down beside him before Noah could tell her to go away and leave him to his thoughts. Today she had on a flowered button down shirt, the sleeves rolled up and she wore shorts with the same dirty red scuffed Chucks. Her dark red hair was braided over her shoulder. She rubbed sunscreen on her arms, scowling. "I hate Dillon."

"Then why are you here?" Might as well talk to her, she wasn't going to go away otherwise. Noah sat up a little, glancing at her. He frowned. "My grandmother says our dads know each other."

"Yeah, they do. You're Noah Street, Jason Street's son." The girl offered her hand. Her nails were painted black. Various woven bracelets fell from her forearm to her wrist. "I'm Frankie."

"What kind of a name is Frankie?"

The girl made a face. "It's short for Francesca. My mother wanted a name that was dramatic and romantic," she drawled, draping her hand over her face and pretending to swoon. She sat back up, rolling her eyes. Frankie dropped a set of aviators on her forehead down to her nose. "My father wasn't amused. He wanted a son. I've been Frankie since as long as I can remember. Mom hates it, but my middle name is Dylan, after this damn town, so you know, could be worse."

I can't believe I'm actually sitting here having a conversation with a thirteen-year old. I'm going to college after next year. I'm going to be a senior; she's going to be in what? Eighth grade? He supposed there really was nothing better to do than talk to a kid about…well if she really was an outsider, maybe she could direct him to where he could actually have some fun. He couldn't be the only seventeen-year old in this town.

Noah narrowed his eyes, nodding a little towards her. "Where are you from?"

"Born in Dillon, but my mom lives in Virginia." She pushed her fingers through her dark hair, fiddling with her braid. She shrugged a little. "Mom got a job up there and we moved when I was little." She sighed hard. "My dad lives here. Always has, always will, so I have to come here every summer. Have since I was four."

"Major bummer."

"You just gotta' deal with it, it's the only time I get to see him," Frankie said, standing up. She gazed across the football field, rolling her eyes. "Crap, here comes my grandfather."

"Who that big guy in the golf cart?"

"He's an idiot, but I love him." Frankie hopped off the bleachers, turning and looking up at him. She shrugged, holding her hands up. "Are you coming with me or not?"

Where the hell are we going to go, Noah wondered. Besides, you don't even know me and I don't know you. He stood up, walking down the bleachers. "Who the hell are you?" he asked.

Frankie rolled her eyes, pointing to herself. She cracked her gum, smiling. "I'm Frankie Riggins, duh." She pointed to him, poking him in the chest again, her eyebrow lifting. "You're Noah Street. You're Jason Street's son."

"So you said, but just telling me your name and that you're from Virginia doesn't tell me who you are." He decided to tease her. "My mother told me never to walk off with strangers. Besides, you're like four years old."

That got him a dark look; he suddenly regretted saying what he said. She looked like she was going to eat him alive. "I'm thirteen, I'm not four." She shook her head, rolling her eyes again. "And I can't believe you don't know who I am. Everyone knows who I am and if they don't know me, they know that I'm Tim Riggins's daughter." She glanced over his shoulder, cursing. "My grandpa."

Who is Tim Riggins, Noah wondered, he turned around, his hands on his hips, seeing the guy in the golf cart zooming towards him. He wore sunglasses and a t-shirt that had "Panthers" on it. He looked like he needed some shade, Noah thought, frowning a little when the guy got out of his golf cart, rushing towards him. "Noah Street!" he exclaimed, grabbing him in a tight, sweaty hug, clapping his back hard. "How are you son? So good to see you! You don't remember me, do you? Buddy Garrity! I knew your daddy when he was your age, haven't seen him since then, he doesn't keep it touch too well, Tim Riggins kept in touch…"

Frankie rolled her eyes. "Because he knocked up Mom, Grandpa."

"Francesca," Buddy said, holding up his hand, obviously exasperated with her. He pointed his finger to her, closing his eyes, his voice slow. "I'm not going to tell you again...I don't like that type of talk. Especially about your mother."

"Name's Frankie, Grandpa."

"Only because your father decided to name a beautiful young girl yourself after a boy."

A softball-sized gum balloon popped over Frankie's lips. She slurped it back up, tugging on some of the strands, rolling her eyes and cracking the gum beneath her tongue. "Yeah, whatever. Noah, let's go. I'll give you the tour, Grandpa, you don't mind if I…." Frankie slid quickly into the front seat of the golf cart, patting the seat beside her. "Come on Noah."

Whatever relationship this Buddy Garrity had with his granddaughter, Noah kind of wished he had it with his. The old man said something about not letting her drive the golf cart, got a sweet smile and big eyed blink in return, and finally sighed. "Okay, fine, but stick to the main road and don't tell your father…" He clapped Noah on the shoulder again, grinning. "Mitchell tells me you play running back?"

"Fullback, actually," Noah said.

"Well we have a State-winning fullback right here in Dillon, your father's best friend actually, Frankie's dad, we'll have to sit down with him, you'll learn from the best while you're here," Buddy rambled, patting his back again. Noah wondered if he was going to have a bruise from the force Buddy kept hitting him with. Who was this guy anyway?

Frankie hit her fist on the golf cart's horn. It sounded like a mouse squeak. "Let's go!" she shouted. She waved at Buddy, while Noah slid in beside her, because what else was he going to do? "Later Grandpa!"

"Stick to the road! I'll tell your grandmother where you are Noah!"

Yeah, whatever, he thought, laughing to himself and holding onto the edge of his seat as the cart bumped along. He glanced at the kid beside him. She seemed much older than thirteen. "So what's your grandpa do?"

"Runs a bar, loses money in bad investments, that sort of thing. He's okay."

"You see him while you're here?"

"Oh yeah, sometimes I stay with him when Dad has to work late. He doesn't trust me by myself."

"But you're thirteen." I was staying home alone when I was thirteen. Mom worked nights sometimes and his father stayed late working all the damn time anyway. He thought it was the best time; it was the only time he got to himself, without nagging parents, at least, when they decided to nag. He rolled his eyes, sighing sadly. Dad usually just ignored.

Frankie lowered her sunglasses, rolling her eyes. "Yeah I am, but he doesn't trust me after the great s'mores microwave disaster last year."

"What was that?"

She shook her head, blowing it off. "I don't want to talk about it." Frankie cleared her throat, her voice a little quiet. Quietly surprised. "So you don't know who I am?" She glanced his way and he shrugged in response. She laughed. "Well I know you. My dad talks about yours enough. I've heard stories of Jason Street and what he did for his kid. I think my dad tells it make himself feel better, but whatever."

Yeah, no, I have no idea. Dad doesn't talk about Dillon or his accident or anything like that. Noah shrugged a little. "It's not a big deal, people grow apart." He frowned a little, realizing something. Whoa...wait...Tim Riggins. Oh! He smacked his hand on his head. "Oh, your dad...I have to talk to him. My dad says."

"Good luck with that, Dad doesn't really talk." Frankie eased up off the gas pedal, cursing again. The golf cart began to slow. She leaned back in the seat, sighing. She reached her fingertips to her forehead, pressing like she was preparing to stave off a headache. "Crap on a cracker."

Who said stuff like that? This kid cracked him up. He chuckled, looking around, not seeing anything but a blonde woman marching towards them. Not very threatening, even if she looked pissed off, shoving her sunglasses up on her forehead, high heels clicking angrily on the pavement. "Who is that? Your mother?"

"No, worse."

"How could it be worse?"

"You'll see." Frankie put on a plastic smile on her face, pushing her sunglasses up, cooing. The sudden 180-turn had Noah jumping a little. Was he sitting in a golf cart with a sociopath? Her voice dripped saccharine. "Hello Mommy Tyra!"

The blonde woman did not seem amused, overlooking the sweetness and the potential name-calling. She stopped hard beside the golf cart, throwing her hand down to her side, her other waving with a phone clenched between her fingers. "Son of a bitch Frankie!" she shouted. "Your father is going to kill me! I said I would watch you today and I get up and you're gone?! I've been running all around this godforsaken town for three hours looking for you! How the hell did you get so far?"

Frankie put on a stupid expression, touching her fingertip to her lower lip, sticking her tongue out. "Uh duh, I got two legs…" She sobered up quickly, glaring at Tyra. She pursed her lips, clearly annoyed at the other woman. "And I can run fast from people who are sleeping with my father."

Tyra's cheeks flushed pink, but had a glare of her own going, Noah thought, glancing between Frankie and Tyra. It was a stare off, until Tyra gave up a few seconds later. "Look Frankie, I am not going to explain to a thirteen-year old what my relationship is with your father, but I am not sleeping with him and that is highly inappropriate to even be discussing with you." She glanced from Frankie to him, frowning slightly. "Who are you?"

"Noah," he said, leaning to wave a little at her. He climbed out of the golf cart. This was probably his cue to leave. Frankie was insane. He waved a little, taking a step backwards. "Uh, I should get back to my Grams…"

Tyra snapped her fingers, pointing at him and grinning wide. "Oh my God! You're Jason's son! You're Noah Street!"

Everyone seemed to know him, but he didn't know anything about them. It was highly disconcerting. Noah felt a muscle tick in his jaw. The way people always said it made it seem like a big deal. His father told him nothing about Dillon. Yet another thing to hate him for, Noah thought, not liking how he was constantly being surprised here. He crossed his arms over his chest. "Sorry," he apologized, trying to be polite. It took a lot of effort. "I don't know you."

The woman smiled a little, nodding and chuckling. "Yeah, well Jason and I weren't that close. I'm Tyra Collette, it's nice to meet you. Are you visiting your grandparents for the summer?"

"He's in hell, just like me," Frankie announced.

"Will you stop talking like that?" Tyra rolled her eyes, mumbling, and glanced around the town. "Although I tend to agree."

"See? It's true." Frankie folded her hands in front of her, smiling sweetly up at Tyra. "So did Daddy send you to come find me and be my babysitter the rest of the day Mommy Tyra? Don't you have anything else to do, like I don't know, save children's lives and generally not hang around here with your family?"

Hey, Noah thought, frowning slightly when he saw the hurt look flicker across Tyra's face. The other woman cleared her throat loudly, shaking her head and gestured to the golf cart. "There, go, I don't care. Drive around Dillon in a golf cart. People already think you're eccentric."

"I am eccentric. It's hard not to be in this town." Frankie took a seat back in the golf cart, looking at him expectant. She pointed to the seat. "Come on."

"I don't know Frankie."

Frankie lifted a dark red eyebrow, pursing her lips. He felt like she was punishing him in her head or something. Maybe she was a witch. He wouldn't be surprised. "I'll introduce you to kids your age," she said, pointing back to the seat. Blackmail. She dropped the other shoe. "They play football."

He groaned. Fine. Might as well. It might make this summer go faster. It was the one thing he actually enjoyed out of life and that his father hadn't taken from him. He slipped back into the golf cart, looking up at Tyra. "It was nice to meet you."

"Good luck," Tyra called, as Frankie hit her foot on the golf cart's accelerator. She shouted after them. "Call your father Frankie!"

"You do it!" Frankie yelled back. She turned the wheel, the golf cart spinning around a corner, rocks kicking up around the small tires, spraying his ankles with sharp little stings. She sighed hard, dropping a set of aviator glasses onto her nose and cracked her gum. "Sorry about that, that was my Aunt Tyra."

Yeah, whatever. Noah shrugged, holding on to the top of the golf cart when she took another spin around a tight corner. "Yeah, well, whatever. Families."

"I think she's sleeping with my dad, but I don't have proof."

"That's…gross. Plus, who cares?"

Frankie turned her head, not watching the road. "I care," she snapped. She finally turned her head back, spinning out of the way of a pothole they could have disappeared through. She sighed hard. "Sorry, but my family is jacked up. Tyra is staying with us for a few weeks. I think she lost her job, but I don't know, no one talks about it." Her voice dropped, sad. "Nobody talks about anything." The theme from Jaws echoed between them. Noah frowned, glancing down, the sound growing louder as Frankie lifted her butt, taking a phone out from her back pocket and lifted it to her ear. "What up Mommy Dearest?"

Jaws theme for a ringtone for your mother, nice. Personally, he had the Psycho knife scene theme on his phone for use with his father. He glanced sideways at her, wondering where she was driving. "Should you be on your phone and driving?" he asked. Should I be talking to a thirteen-year old who was driving him around in a golf cart?

Or maybe I could be back in the Dillon High School gym, making ribbon pins with the other mothers. He shook his head, the image disappearing. I'll drive around with the baby teenager. He glanced back at her, frowning slightly, because she seemed annoyed. "Mom, seriously? But…I get twelve weeks with Dad, I always get twelve weeks, you can't pull me back after just eight!" She waited a second, rolling her eyes. "Then come here for the last four or something, this is stupid!" She sighed, turning the cart onto a residential street. "Mom, I'm with someone right now, I can't talk like this." She hit the brake hard, stopping the cart in front of a ranch house with a series of bikes and footballs piled in front of the front stoop. Frankie rolled her eyes. "Love you too…bye."

She disconnected, shoving the phone back into her pocket and jumped from the golf cart. "Problem with your mom?" Noah asked, following Frankie up the walkway to the house. He shoved his hands into his pockets. "You leaving early?"

"No one is making me leave early, she's having trouble with my stepdad, wants me home early in case they need to talk to me in person. I don't care." Frankie seemed like she actually did care at the idea of there being problems between her mother and stepfather, but didn't say anything further, knocking on the door and tugging it open, stepping into the house. "Your favorite cousin has arrived and I brought you someone to play with this summer!"

"I'm not playing with anyone," Noah said. He stepped into the house against his better judgment, hoping that she wasn't introducing him to a bunch of thirteen-year olds.

Frankie walked into what looked like a laundry room, turning a corner and then did something in another room, which had someone yelling for her to get the hell out because he was trying to sleep. She emerged, a guy about a year younger than him walking out, scrubbing at his face and wearing clothes that had to be from the night before. "Wake up Ryan!" she yelled, tackling someone on the couch.

Noah's eyes widened as whoever Ryan was sat up from beneath a pile of blankets. He was identical to the guy currently sticking his head beneath the faucet. Hangover cure, it worked, he thought, glancing to another doorway, another guy emerging. How many people could live in this house, he wondered. Surely no more than the one standing here plus like two parents. Two dogs wandered out of another bedroom. "I stand corrected," Noah mumbled. He crossed his arms over his chest, waiting for someone to introduce him. In the meantime, he watched Frankie interact.

"Wake up," Frankie said again, punching the guy, Ryan, in the solarplexus. He lurched forward, almost puking. "You puke on me and I'll kill you," she said, climbing off the couch. She jumped up onto the counter. "Hey Scott, this is my friend, Noah. Noah, say hi to my cousins, the twins Ryan and Scott and then this is Steven."

The guy that looked his age leaned for him. "Steve Riggins, hey nice to meet you," Steve said, reaching to shake his hand. He looked him up and down, frowning a little. "You play football?"

"Fullback, about to start my senior year," Noah said. He stepped farther into the house. It seemed semi-normal. He nodded to the one twin, who was dripping water, while his other twin removed a bottle of beer from the fridge. "Should you be drinking that this early? How old are you anyway?"

"Fifteen," they both said at once.

Frankie wiggled her eyebrows, eating out of a crumpled bag of chips. "Us Rigginses start early."

"What are you saying Squeak? You're a goodie-goodie like Aunt Lyla, no way have you even had a sip in your life," Ryan said, tilting the bottle towards her. He wiggled it in front of her face, grinning. "I dare ya'."

Noah stepped forward, to defend her, whatever, he didn't know, but Steve held his hand out, stopping him. "She can handle herself," he said, lifting an eyebrow, nodding. "Watch."

The little girl who was half the size of the three guys around her, took the beer, uncapped it, and held it to her lips. She glanced down at it and then at him. For a second Noah thought she was going to drink it, until she dropped it in the sink with a clatter and then punched Ryan hard in the chest again, bringing her knee up into his stomach. "I'll drink when I want, not right now you stupid ass, your mom counts the bottles!"

"Shit that's right she does," Scott said, smacking his hand to his forehead. He grinned, reaching back into the sink to splash water on his face. He reached for a hand towel. "Squeak actually is helping out."

Squeak? Steve walked over to the dining table, picking up a gym bag. "You want to go run some plays? I'm quarterback, Dad says I'll be starting next year, also a senior." He tossed a football to Noah, who caught it against his chest. He grinned. "All our friends are banned from hanging with us or they're with their grandparents or something. We'll show you around, give you a good time that Squeak here is too little to do."

That didn't sound so bad. These guys seemed cool, although Noah didn't want to think of his father's reaction to him hanging out with a bunch of guys that drank and partied. Especially given the reason why he was here. He shrugged. "Sounds fun."

"Squeak can come too," one of the twins said.

Noah frowned. "Squeak?" he asked.

"Shut up," Frankie warned all of them. She jumped off the counter, walking by the both of them, holding up the key to the golf cart. The bracelets on her wrists fell down to her elbow. "That's a family nickname and this cat's not family yet."

Seems like I might just be, Noah thought, grinning at something his grandmother said about her father. He shrugged. "Grams said that your dad and mine were like brothers. Maybe I am family."

"Good enough for me, if Uncle Tim likes anyone as a brother, he's in the family," Scott laughed, slinging an arm over Noah's shoulders. He poked his stomach, looking at Frankie. "Tell him why we call you Squeak."

The little girl seemed dwarfed by all four around her. She pursed her lips, waiting a beat. She finally tossed her auburn braid over her shoulder, crossing her arms over her chest and rolling her eyes. "They think it's funny that I'm the smallest one in the family, so I'm pipsqueak. It didn't help that when they tackled me, I squeaked."

Steve laughed; he pushed her shoulders lightly, all of them filing out of the house towards a beat-up black pickup truck parked in the driveway. "Yeah, sure. That's the real reason Squeak."

It was clearly an inside joke that Frankie was embarrassed to admit. Something that rattled this kid, nice, Noah laughed, climbing into the truck with Steve, while Frankie took up the middle spot. The twins got in the bed of the truck, pushing at each other over who was a better running back. He glanced at Steve. "All of you play offense?"

"Dad was a defense guy, but we can all run fast and are big, so we're running backs mostly, except I made the switch to QB last year when ours went out with a bad knee. Haven't looked back. I love it." He poked Frankie. "Squeak is our stats girl, right?"

"No, I'm not." She shoved her sunglasses up a little farther on her nose. Noah glanced at all of them; was it some code that they all had to wear aviators? He frowned slightly, glancing at the twins, who had dark hair that almost reached their shoulders, while Steve's dirty blond hair was tied back from his face in a short ponytail. Every one of them looked like they could be poster children for small-town Texas living, wearing dirty boots, jeans, and snap-up chambray shirts.

They all seemed cool though, but Noah had yet to make a final decision. He glanced at Frankie, prepared to ask her where they were going, when her phone rang. Only this time it wasn't the Jaws theme, but the Star Wars Imperial March. "Wow you're a geek," he announced.

"Tell Tim we said he needs to get his old ass out on the field with us," Scott, or maybe it was Ryan, yelled from the bed of the truck.

"Cop!" Steve yelled. Both twins ducked down immediately in the back when they drove by a cop, who appeared to be sleeping on the side of the road instead of running radar. He checked the rearview mirror. "Okay you're clear."

"Daddy checking up on you Squeak?" one of the twins asked, reaching through the open back window to tweak her earring. Another tugged on her braid, but she ignored them, lifting the phone to her ear.

"Hello Darth Father," Frankie said. She began to play with a strand of thread on her jeans. Noah listened close, which wasn't difficult since the small cab of the truck and the size of both him and Steve made her almost sit in his lap. She fiddled with a strand of hair next, twirling it around her finger while her father spoke to her. Poor kid, Noah thought, hearing an adult voice on the other side, kind of soft and husky, which made the disappointment seem a bit worse to him, inform Frankie that she had to stop goofing around and get back to the house so he could talk to her. He'd spoke with her mother and they all had to have a sitdown. Plus, he wasn't happy at how she'd shaken off Tyra and been rude to her. He asked where she was now.

Frankie shrugged. "Trolling for guys. Getting pregnant. Ruining my life, that sort of a thing."

"Francesca," all of them heard a loud voice say through the phone.

Steve snorted. "Someone's in trouble! I don't think he's called you that since the great s'mores microwave incident last year."

Frankie punched him. Kid had a mean right hook, Noah observed. She used it a lot. She slumped down in the middle seat. "I'm with the guys, we're going to play football, and I'm not going home yet."

"Nice to think you have that decision-making power," Noah heard her father said through the phone's small speaker. "Come home in two hours or I'm sending out a search party."

"You used to be more fun," Frankie complained. She quickly followed it with: "I'm with Noah Street, Jason's son, we're going to play football. Talk to you later." She hung up before he said anything else, turning the phone off. She nibbled her bottom lip, sitting back up again. "That was fun, whose up for some plays? Can I be defense?"

"No," all three Riggins boys said at once.

"Aw shucks."

Noah chuckled; he had to admit, this was fun. Definitely better than hanging out with his grandparents. At least Frankie was good for something. He leaned his shoulder against the open window, staring out at the town as they drove through. Several girls waved and cheered when they recognized the truck, Steve honking the horn and waving. "Are you guys famous or something?" he asked.

"Or something," Frankie answered on behalf of all of them.

Steve draped his wrist over the steering wheel. "So what are you doing in Dillon for an entire summer Noah? Last summer before senior year, think you'd be back hanging with your friends or something."

Yeah, so did I. "Thing is," Noah drawled, adjusting his sunglasses, which were not aviators. He turned his head slightly from the window. "When your dad tries to punish you…"

Steve whistled low behind his teeth while Frankie nodded. "Hear that," she grumbled.

"So what'd you do?" Ryan asked, leaning through the open window. He wiggled his eyebrows. "Because it's been awhile since we've caused some mayhem."

"You cause anymore mayhem and remember what Mom said," Scott piped up from beside his twin brother. Both of them laughed. Scott wiped at his eyes, pretending like it was really so funny. "Yeah, she thinks she can pull us from the football team. Dad will divorce her and I think she knows it."

"Yeah but Dad's terrified of her, so watch it, she might finally pull the trigger on that threat this year if you keep it up," Steve warned them both. He pulled the truck into the parking lot of a park, shoving the gears up to bring it to a complete stop. He smiled at Noah, as they climbed from the truck, walking towards a dirt practice field. He gestured to Frankie, who the twins had both picked up and hoisted onto theirs shoulders. "We don't have a little sister, so she gets the brunt of it. Plus, she's Squeak, you know?"

No, I don't really know, but I'm starting to, Noah thought. He crossed his arms over his chest. "How come you don't practice at the football field?"

"Buddy Garrity, have you met him yet?" Steve shook his head slightly, reaching in the back of the truck for a bag of footballs and a binder, passing the binder to Noah. It was a playbook. "He's Frankie's grandfather, booster, all sorts of stuff. He also has Dad's number, so he gets what he wants with the football team. We don't practice in front of him because then he starts making changes. So we practice out here." Steve frowned a little. "So why are you in Dillon for the summer? No complaints, it's nice to have someone new to toss a pigskin with, but seriously." He laughed. "No one comes to Dillon."

Tell me about it. Noah thought about what he'd done…what he said. He shook his head a little, glancing down at his flip-flops. "Long story," he mumbled. One I don't feel like telling someone, while cool, that I just met.

That answer sufficed for Steve, who shrugged. "Suit yourself. Just don't hurt Frankie, she likes you and well, if you do…" Steve shrugged again, nonchalant. "We'll have to end you." He turned away, throwing the bag at his brothers, while Frankie grabbed a whistle, beginning to shout assignments. What am I doing here, Noah wondered. He flicked through the playbook. He sighed, trudging forward. It was better than hanging out with his grandparents, so he'd make the most of it. Only eleven weeks left.


	3. Father Knows Best

**A/N:**Thanks for the reviews :) This fic isn't as long as my others in terms of chapter numbers, but each chapter is pretty long word-wise. Enjoy!

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**_Chapter 3: Father Knows Best_**

"Mary Francesca Dylan Riggins get down here now!"

Son of a bitch, Frankie thought, removing her earbuds from her ears. She wrapped them around her phone, shoving it into the back pocket of her shorts and swung her legs over the side of her bed, grabbing her favorite Frye engineer boots and shoved her feet into them, the heavy boots clomping on the hardwood floor of her bedroom. She swiped a flannel shirt to tug on over her lace camisole, wandering slowly out of the room, down the hall, and began to take one step at a time.

It didn't matter, because her father would still be waiting. He leaned against the banister, his arms crossed, looking completely bored with her. Maybe he was. Frankie popped a gum bubble loudly, tugging on the strands before shoving it back into her mouth. That didn't bother him as much as it would have her mother. She leaned against the opposite side of the banister. "What's up Pops?"

"Don't what's up Pops me," Tim said, his voice soft. He sighed, lifting an eyebrow. "I do not want to do this, but come on." He grabbed her shoulders, turning her around and walking her into the living room. "We gotta' talk."

"Uh oh, we gotta' talk or…" Frankie lowered her voice, whispering seriously, her eyes wide on his, dramatic. "We gotta' talk?"

Tim pointed to the couch. "You know I hate doing this, don't make it worse." He flopped into his chair, rocking back for a second. He ran his tongue over his teeth, sighing and folded his hands in his lap. "Why'd you shake off Tyra again? This is the third day in a row."

I don't want a babysitter. She shrugged, slumping into the pillows on the couch. "You know what they say about teenagers." She waited a second, her eyes on his impassive face. She shrugged again, flashing a grin. "We're monsters. Can't keep your eyes off of us."

"It's not funny," Tim whispered. He got up from the chair, walking over to the couch, pushing her aside so he could have the spot in the corner of the sectional sofa. He fell back against the pillows, closing his eyes, rubbing at his face. "I don't want to do this Frankie, but what do you want me to say? I told you when you showed up, Tyra's going through some stuff right now, she just needed a break; she's staying here. You're not being the best houseguest."

"Well neither is she, sleeping with my dad." Okay, maybe I went too far, she thought, her eyes widening at the glare. She waited a second, closing her eyes, for the soft, disappointing voice. Her father was one of those people whose quiet voice was always far worse than his shouting.

Sure enough, he spoke, soft, his eyes not breaking from hers. "Watch it Francesca. Sarcasm is not good on you." He stepped forward her and jabbed a finger into her shoulder; hard. I'm gonna' bruise, Frankie thought, rubbing at it. She glared at him. He glared back. "I warned you to stop making those comments. Tyra's asked you to stop too, but she's nicer about it than I am, although I've told her to go no holds barred on you; she's a friend Frankie. If I were in a relationship with her, I'd let you know. I'm not gonna' hide that." He quirked his lip up. "I don't lie to you kid."

Yes you do. You all do. Frankie slumped so she was almost on the floor, not looking at him. She closed her eyes, inhaling deep for a moment. "Can I go?" she mumbled. I don't want to sit here anymore. You're not going to tell me what I want to know anyway, including about Tyra.

Tim sighed again. So serious, she thought, closing her eyes. "I'm serious kid. I don't lie you. Tyra's just…" He slumped so that both of them were on the floor. He rested his head against hers, rolling his eyes upward. He quieted again. "I told you, Tyra lost her job. She's just taking a break."

I don't want her here. She's making it worse. Frankie shrugged, mumbling. "Okay, whatever. Don't make a big deal."

"I think you're the one making a big deal."

Maybe I am, but I'm the one who was supposed to spend my time with just you. Now you're off with her. "Whatever." She got up, thinking of her journal and her music upstairs. She should also get to the football stadium, Noah was supposed to be suiting up with the football team today. She wanted to see how it went, see what Uncle Billy thought of him. "I'm gonna' go to the football field."

"Francesca."

Come on, stop calling me that. She froze in place, biting at her lower lip. "Yeah?" she mumbled. They didn't do this. They didn't talk to each other. Not like this. It was uncomfortable. Can I please just leave, she wondered, not turning around.

Tim walked around to stand in front of the stairs. He seemed sheepish. "We should…talk about your mom. I…I talked to her this morning." He stalled a little, his face pained. He couldn't stand talking about her mother in front of her. He sighed, frowning a little. "Frankie, she wants to talk to you in person about…about Ethan."

Frankie pushed by him, running up the stairs, ignoring his yells for her to come back downstairs. She didn't want to hear it. It's all falling apart, she thought, closing her bedroom door and locking it. She went around her bed, in the center of the room, grabbing her backpack and shoving some things inside of it. She opened up the window, climbed out and ran down the slope of the roof to the sycamore tree outside the porch. She dropped her bag, grabbed a branch and swung down to land lightly on her feet, her fingers digging into the dirt. When she stood up, she groaned, staring right at her father, who was waiting, his arms crossed, holding her bag in his hand. "Dad!"

"I'm cutting down this tree if you keep that up, one of these days you're going to fall and kill yourself."

"I won't fall." She'd twisted her ankle at worst, a couple years ago. Now she was bigger, it wasn't so bad of a drop anymore. Frankie reached for her bag, but he held it out of her reach. "Dad!"

"Dad!" Tim mimicked, he shook his head, pointing to the house. He sighed. He groaned, dragging his fingers through his short hair. "Frankie!"

"Dad!"

He groaned again, pushing her towards the house by her shoulders. "Kid, I don't want to do this anymore than you, believe me, but I promised your mother that we'd talk. She's agreed with me that it's not good to take you out four weeks early, so she's gonna' come in four weeks early, for the Fourth of July festival thing. It's a football reunion, a couple of the guys and gals we knew from high school will be there, so she's gonna' come out and stay with your grandfather." He nudged her to the couch. Frankie tried not to let her surprise show on her face that her mother was going to actually stay in Dillon. Lyla dropped her on a plane in D.C. and picked her up twelve weeks later, she only ever flew her out here when she was little. Once she turned eight, she let her travel on her own. This was a big deal.

Must be real, she thought, thinking of the fights between her mother and stepfather before she left. She'd ignored some of her mom's phone calls the last couple of days. I want to talk to you in person, she'd told her, when they were driving together in the truck, her cousins and Noah. Frankie wanted desperately to talk to her mother about Noah, but she didn't want to yet. Not yet, not while Lyla was…not while she was split. She looked up at her father, her eyes shadowed slightly. "They're getting a divorce, aren't they?" she murmured, twisting one of her bracelets around. It said 'punk' on it. She wasn't sure she felt like a punk right now. Wishful thinking. She bit her lower lip, whispering. "Just tell me Dad."

Tim leaned forward over his knees, glancing sideways at her, murmuring. "I don't know Frankie. I just know your mom wants to talk to you. Pretty serious." He bit his lip, smiling quickly. "Ethan loves you kid. No matter what happens." Ethan might love me and I might love him, but he's just a stepfather. He'd been her stepfather since she was six. She liked him; he was good…he was nice…he was a professional baseball player, so he traveled a lot, which gave her a nice break. He was good to her mother. Mom was happy. Since for awhile, when she was little, Frankie didn't remember her mother very happy, that was good for her.

She didn't know what she wanted. I want Mom happy, but I want answers. I want some other things…Frankie lifted her face again, staring at her father. He hadn't had a girlfriend in years. Not that she knew. She felt her voice crack. "Daddy are you and Aunt Tyra…because I don't want it," she said. She tried not to cry, but tears rose in her eyes. Furious, she wiped hard at them, her fingernails scratching her cheek. She swallowed hard, almost begging. "Please, I see how she looks at you…"

"Oh Frankie," Tim sighed, reaching to hug her. She clutched at his shoulders, squeezing tight. I don't want her to be my stepmother. It's one thing for my mom to remarry, it'd be another for you. He smoothed his hand over her hair, whispering into her ear. "Tyra and I are not dating, I promise you that. You'd be the first one to know, I swear."

She nodded quickly, letting go and looking straight at him. "I don't want to talk about this anymore, please? Can we just…do something else?" Frankie glanced at the clock above the mantle. It was almost the end of practice. She swallowed hard. "Can I go to the football field now?"

Not that she ever waited for permission to do anything, Frankie stood up, picking up her backpack from where he dropped it on the kitchen floor. She grabbed the key to the golf cart out front, Tim following her to the front door. "You want some cash?" he asked, reaching into his back pocket.

"Always."

He passed her a twenty. "Here," he said. "I have to work tonight, I promise I'll be home tomorrow. What do you want to do? Maybe go to Austin?"

"Hmm, I'm busy."

"Busy, doing what?"

"Steve and the twins were going to take me to football practice." It was boring as hell, but at least she got to hang with some of the older kids. It was always fun to annoy them.

"I don't want you hanging with your cousins too much." He shrugged, frowning a little. "Why don't you make…" He sighed, rolling his eyes, obviously forced to say this by her mother, she thought. "Friends. You're gonna' be here for the whole summer. Might as well."

Frankie shrugged, nonchalant. "I've already made a friend," she said, putting sweetness in her voice. She turned quickly on her boot heel, crossing her arms over her chest, smiling up at him. "Noah Street. I've got to bring him by the house, his father's orders."

A look of recognition dawned on her father. "Oh yeah, he mentioned Noah was in town…" Tim ran his hand over his hair, frowning a little. He screwed up his face, closing his eyes. "I feel like it was for something important…can't remember. " Whatever it was, it went away and he changed the subject, cocking his head and studying her. What, she thought, staring straight at him. He frowned. "Are you sure you're okay Frankie? I told you, your mom told me…"

Mom again. No thanks. Not interested in talking unless it's about what I want to talk about. "I'm out of here." I don't want to hear it. Frankie ran out the front door, jumping off the porch and climbed into the golf cart. She made a move to turn the key, but nothing happened. She scowled, turning it again and punched the little button. Nothing. She glared at her father, who was smiling, reaching into his pocket and removed two wires. She slammed her hand on the steering wheel. "Come on!"

"They'll go back."

What do I have to do to get them back, that's the question. Frankie grumbled, climbing back out of the golf cart and going back to the porch. She scowled again. "What?"

"Be nice to your Aunt Tyra," Tim whispered. He lifted an eyebrow. "Believe me, she just needs space right now. I know it's hard for you to be a kind little girl, but just try."

Frankie rolled her eyes. "What kind of sweetness you want? Mom level of sweetness?"

He cringed. "It'd be nice, but that level of sweetness you are not capable of without force. How about just nice Frankie Riggins that used to come and hang out with her daddy for the summer?" he teased, turning his voice into exaggerated baby talk. He pinched her cheeks, grabbing her around the shoulders and rubbing his knuckles into her hair. "My little Frankie Bear!"

"Stop it!" she giggled, trying to squirm away, but Tim grabbed her again, spinning her around and lifting her feet off the ground. She squealed, kicking. "Stop!"

Tim laughed, dropping her back to the ground. He held his hand out. "Can I have my I have my cash back? I actually don't have to work tonight, so you and I are hanging out."

Sneak, she thought, shoving the twenty into his hand. She felt her heart skip a little. It had been two weeks since she'd gotten to Dillon and they hadn't hung out as much as she'd wanted. He'd been helping Tyra with whatever was going on with her and working. She dropped her backpack in the hallway, hearing him kick it out of his way. Frankie turned in the kitchen, leaning on the counter, holding her face in her hands. Maybe with both of us here and you in a little bit of a sentimental mood…she smiled. Maybe I can get some answers.

She lowered her arms, clearing her throat. "So you talked to mom?"

Tim opened the fridge, removing a bottle of beer for himself and a Yoo-Hoo for her. He opened both and scowled when she reached for the beer, instantly making the last-minute switch to Yoo-Hoo. "Thank you," he drawled. He shrugged, sipping. "Yeah, talked to your mom." He shook his head, whispering. "Frankie that's it, it was all about your stepdad, I don't know what you want me to say."

I don't want you to say anything. Except one day I'd like to know the history of my birth, she thought sarcastically. "You know Mom misses you," she lied. She didn't know if her mom missed him or not. But if Mom and Ethan were having problems and were breaking up…maybe this was her chance. Her heart skipped a little, her eyes lighting up slightly at the idea. Both her parents in the same room together for longer than five minutes…she bit her lower lip, smiling. "I think she does."

He chuckled, shaking his head, walking to the counter, where the phone sat. "I'm calling for pizza."

"Dad how come you guys got divorced?" Might as well go full-bear on this. She shrugged, twisting her bottle around. She glanced up, seeing that he'd frozen, his thumb hovering over the buttons on the phone. "Because…Mom doesn't talk about it. Just said you got divorced when I was a baby. Why?"

Tim set the phone down, a muscle ticking in his jaw. He glanced her way, whispering. "Your mom is…very special to me, but…" He shrugged again, quickly punching buttons on the phone. "Sometimes people grow apart. Want different things. You want pepperoni or sausage?"

"Pepperoni," she mumbled. She closed her eyes, pinching at her forehead. "Dad can I ask another…" she trailed off, since he'd already started talking to the pizza place. Forget it. Frankie sighed, walking out of the kitchen into the living room. She paused in front of the mantelpiece, calling over her shoulder. "Don't forget the mushrooms!"

"No mushrooms!" Tim shouted from the kitchen. Although she heard him ask for half the pizza to have mushrooms.

Frankie reached her fingers up to the mantle, turning the corner of the one of the framed pictures. There was one photo she knew in existence of the three of them together, at least, from when her parents were actually together and her grandfather had it, proud as could be, on the wall of his apartment, right when you walked in. Dad had asked him to take it down so many times. She twisted the corner of the picture, this one of her as a baby, sitting on Dad's knee at a football game, wearing a Dillon cheerleading outfit. One of the rare times she was in Dillon when it wasn't blistering hot and humid as a swamp. She kept her eyes on the picture, waiting until she heard him hang up on the phone, his footsteps echoing into the living room. She called out again. "Hey Dad, can you tell me about how you met Mom?"

"No, I cannot."

"Why not?" she asked, turning and standing in front of the fireplace. Frankie blinked. He sank back into his La-Z-Boy chair, reaching for the television remote. She walked over, standing in front of him, blocking his view of the TV. "Dad come on, tell me, please, please, please!"

"No, no, no," Tim mimicked. He turned on the TV. "What do you want to watch?"

"Nothing. Why did you get divorced?"

Tim flicked the TV off, glaring at her. He shook his head, chuckling. "Kid, we're not talking about this. I told you, I'm not telling you again." He turned the TV on. "So that kid you mentioned, Noah, how long is he staying in town?"

"Couple months."

"Bring him by in a few days, when I'm not working. Shit, I have that part for his grandfather, left it in the truck, you want to go get it, its in the back." Tim reached for his keys, passing them to her. "In the bed of the truck, you need this to open the back hatch."

Guess we're done. She twisted the keys around, twirling a lanyard she'd made in Girl Scouts several years ago. "You still have this?" she murmured, glancing towards him.

Tim looked up, nodding. "Why wouldn't I?" he asked, grinning. He nodded to the TV. "When you come back, pick something for us to watch."

Okay. Frankie walked out of the house, sighing, her hands folding around the lanyard, squeezing it hard. She opened up the back hatch, reaching for the part. She tugged it out, in the bag and everything, glancing towards the barn. She looked beneath the cover of the back hatch, wondering if he'd hidden her drumsticks in there. When she was ten, he'd bought her a drum set for her birthday. Mom forced him to take it back to his house after she'd been up for all hours playing. So he had and when she visited, she always got in quality time on her drum set. He'd taken her sticks the first week she was here, hiding them somewhere. I bet they're in the barn. Frankie trotted off, searching around in his workshop, but finding nothing. Damn.

Frankie turned around, leaving the barn and walking towards the house. She stopped in her tracks, staring at the sight of her father leaning in to Tyra, their foreheads touching, whispering together. She narrowed her eyes. What the hell? Frankie approached them slowly, wondering if they noticed her. She got up to right beside them, finally causing enough noise to get Tyra to turn to look at her. She rotated her gaze on her father. He just stared straight at her, saying nothing. "Liar," she whispered.

"Frankie," he said, stepping towards her.

"Liar!" she screamed, dropping the part and running up into the house, slamming the door behind her. She heard both him and Tyra yelling for her to come back downstairs, that it wasn't what she thought it was, but what else was it? Frankie grabbed at her bedroom door, but remembered that she'd locked it when she went to jump out the window. Damnit!

Looking around, she ran into her dad's bedroom, throwing open the window and pushing out the screen, crawling down the roof and to the edge, her eyes darting around for a way out. She glanced at a tree, calculating the angles. "Francesca Riggins!" Tim yelled, leaning on the window. His eyes widened. "Don't do it!"

"You lied to me!" she screamed, tears hot on her face. He lied, they both lied…she cried, closing her eyes tight, sobbing. "I told you that I didn't want it, just now, I said it and you promised!"

"Because it's true, Frankie, come on back inside, please!"

Frankie wiped at her eyes, looking down over the edge of the roof. It was insane, what she wanted to do. Jump off, go running away. She turned, climbing back up and into the house, feeling Tim help her back into the room. She lifted her eyes to his, whispering. "I don't want to talk to you."

"Frankie, she's…" Tim's jaw set. He glanced at Tyra.

Tyra shook her head, whispering. "Tim, it's okay." She looked at Frankie, her face sad. "Frankie, you know I lost my job. I'm here because I'm…" She shrugged again. "Frankie some stuff happened. Grown-up stuff, I guess you could call it. Your dad is helping me. But don't worry." She flashed a tight smile. "Believe me, we're not together, I know it looks like that, but really Frankie, we're not."

I don't know if I believe either of you. Frankie looked up at Tim, who nodded, whispering that it was true. She glanced at Tyra. "What happened?" she asked.

Tyra sighed again. She shook her head, her voice quiet. "I'll talk to you about it later, but…not right now." She looked pained, looking at Tim, her eyes closing. "I'm going to go lay down."

"Tyra," Tim said.

"I'm going to go lay down," she repeated, raking her fingers through her hair and walking out of the bedroom, looking exhausted. Foosteps echoed away down the staircase, leaving the room that the two of them stood in empty of sound.

Frankie closed her eyes. What the hell was that about? She stepped away from Tim. "I don't want to do anything right now," she whispered, walking away from him and to her door. She glanced at it and then back at him, pointing. "I need to unlock it."

"Pick it," Tim whispered, walking by her, shaking his head. "And the pizza will be here in a few minutes, if you care. I'll be downstairs."

So that was it, huh? Frankie sighed, staring at the lock. She reached into her pocket and removed a bobby pin, fiddling with the old-fashioned lock for a second until it popped open, the door creaking as she pushed it. She stepped inside and closed the door, waiting a moment. She walked across the room, wiping at the tears that now began to fall down her face, slipping her hand beneath her mattress, removing a photograph she kept hidden.

There was one photo in existence of the three of them after she was born, when her parents were together, but Frankie had stolen away the one she had of the three of them when they were together…before she was born, she liked to think, staring at the frayed image of her mother, happily pregnant, and her father holding her belly, laughing and grinning, while her mother just rolled her eyes. He was clearly doing something stupid and she didn't care. They both had wedding rings on. It was at the football field.

Why did it go wrong, Frankie wondered. She touched her mother's face and then her own. She wished she was that pretty. She set the photo back on her knees, closing her eyes and slumping to the floor. Her phone rang; the ringtone for Noah Street, which was the Monday Night Football theme. I'll get it later, Frankie thought, closing her eyes tighter.


	4. Give A Little Bit

**A/N:**Thanks for the reviews! This fic is hitting some snags and I'm trying to fix some of it, so apologies if at times it may seem like I obviously took a different tactic/storyline approach. I'm trying to avoid that as I go back through the fic and continue with it. Enjoy and thanks for the reviews :)

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_**Chapter 4: Give A Little Bit**_

Noah twirled his spoon around in his cereal bowl, glancing up when Joanne reentered the kitchen from outside, holding a handful of basil. He sighed. Italian again. She was insisting on cooking things using ingredients from her garden, but the only two things growing were tomatoes and basil. Even Gramps was getting sick of it. He stood up, taking his bowl to the sink, setting it in with the rest of the dishes. He was about to turn away and go upstairs when he remembered that if he put a dish in the sink, he had to wash what was there. Funny how that didn't go for his grandparents. He turned back, reaching for the soap and turned the faucet on high. "Hey Grams," he called over the sound of the water.

Joanne looked up from where she was trimming the basil leaves. "Yes?"

He turned off the water, his hands shoved beneath the soap suds. There was a dishwasher, all he had to do was put the dishes in the dishwasher, but here he was, doing it the old-fashioned way. He swallowed hard. "Um…" He lifted up the cereal bowl, slowly running the scrub wand over it. "I was wondering…if…" He sighed. "Can I have my phone back?"

Figured I'd at least try. I've been here three full weeks. It'd been fun, hanging with the Riggins brothers and meeting some of their friends, who were at least close enough to his age. He'd also spent some more time with Frankie, but she'd pulled away a lot lately. He'd asked Steve about it and got a standard response that Frankie was a moody little brat, she probably didn't get her way, so she was taking it out on him and to ignore it. Yeah, but he thought something was up with her anyway. Something with her folks and her aunt. Steve said he didn't know anything about that, he didn't even know her mother. Just that Frankie took things personal, so again, she was probably off licking her wounds somewhere.

I think I've been a good host, I haven't broken any rules, haven't talked back, and I've helped at the store, around the house, and now I think I deserve something in return. Noah set a clean dish on the rack to dry. He finished the dishes, draining the sink, and turned completely around to face his grandmother, who was still cleaning the basil. "So?" he suggested. "How about it?"

Joanne set each basil leaf into a dish, carefully trimming from the stalk. "Well," she drawled, glancing up. "I'll have to ask your father. Or maybe you should ask." She reached for the cordless landline, passing it to him. "Call him Noah. It's been three weeks."

Yeah, three weeks of relatively hellish boredom. There was only so much he could take of football. He grabbed the phone, walking away from the kitchen into the living room, dialing his father's cell phone. It was guaranteed to be on him at all times. He just hoped he wasn't in a meeting. Or maybe he did. He waited a moment, listening to it ring. "Hello?"

Noah waited a second. He closed his eyes, leaning forward over his knees. "Hey Dad." He followed up with an unnecessary clarification of who was calling. "It's me, Noah. Your son." In case you didn't know that.

Jason was quiet for a second; Noah could hear sounds of New York, car horns honking, driving, and the occasional street yeller. He missed it. You were always guaranteed some sort of excitement. He closed his eyes, waiting for his father to move away from wherever he was, the ambient noises disappearing as a door shut. "Hey Noah, how is Dillon?" his father asked a second later.

"It's okay."

"Your grandmother tells me you're helping out. That's good. Did you see Tim Riggins yet?"

"Not yet, but…" Noah shrugged. Might as well let him know. "I'm hanging out with his daughter a little bit."

Jason let out a loud bark of laughter. "Frankie? If there was anyone out there who could give you a run for your money, it'd be her. I hope you're staying out of trouble with her though." It was a warning, not a statement. Yeah, yeah, I am. Jason continued. "Grams tells me you're also making friends with the Riggins brothers. Steve showing you around?"

"Yeah, we play football a little bit." It's still boring. Noah felt the urge to clarify. "I'm staying out of trouble."

"Good. It's hard when you're with Riggins brothers to stay out of trouble, but I know you're going to learn from your mistakes." Again, another warning. Stop it Dad, I get it. Jason sighed. "Noah I'm not punishing you. I'm trying to teach you. Going to Dillon is just teaching."

"You could have let me just do the community service," Noah snapped.

"I don't think so. You also need to talk to Tim. Let him know why you're there. Trust me Noah. You might hate me…"

Noah interrupted. "I don't hate you Dad, it'd be easier if I did." It really would. It would make thing so much easier if he truly hated his father, but he didn't. He swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry. He pushed his fingers over his forehead to dig into his scalp, mumbling. "I don't hate you."

"Could have fooled me Noah."

"Well I was an asshole, okay?"

"Yeah, you were." Jason sighed. "I'm not letting you have your phone back, but if you want some independence, my old bike is in the garage. I think you can do with staying away from the house and I don't want you driving around with the Riggins boys."

"Steve doesn't drink and drive."

"Neither did Tim, but that didn't mean he wasn't distracted most of the time, so as I said, use my old bike to get around town. What's Frankie driving around in these days? Last time I saw her it was a Big Wheel."

"Buddy Garrity's golf cart." Frankie had confiscated it and decorated it in streamers and with skull stickers along the back. Buddy was currently using the backup golf cart, which didn't go over a mile an hour because the battery was bad. It made for an amusing sight, seeing him chugging along the football field while Billy Riggins, the head coach, put the team through their summer conditioning. Noah waited until they were done before he went off the Riggins brothers.

Jason snorted. "That's hilarious. If I remember right, she's his only grandkid, Lyla didn't have any more kids and her siblings don't have any kids." He sighed. It went to silence after a second, both of them simply breathing. He sighed again. "I need to get back to work Noah. I'm glad you're doing well. I hope you come home as the boy I raised and not the one that spent all last year in a drunken stupor."

Yeah, I got it, he thought, closing his eyes and pinching his nose. "I'm sorry Dad," he whispered. It was the first time he'd said that. He bit his lip hard, closing his eyes tighter, hoping he wouldn't start crying. That would be lame. "I'm really sorry."

"Show me you're sorry," Jason whispered. He waited a second. "I love you Noah."

Yeah, I know. Noah didn't say anything, disconnecting the call and letting the phone slip to the floor, scrubbing his face hard. He stood up, set the phone back in its cradle, and entered the kitchen, gesturing to the side door. "I'm going to go get Dad's bike, he said I could."

"He mentioned that last we talked, let me know if you need anything fixed with it and we'll take it in to town, but I think your grandfather got it ready for you," Joanne said. She was layering tomatoes and basil in a gratin dish. Noah sighed. He really wasn't looking forward to more tomato-based dishes.

He went into the garage and found the bike in the corner, all cleaned up, tires ready, and with a new seat, ready for him. He smiled a little, setting the kickstand down and went back inside. "I'm going to go find Frankie and the Rigginses."

"Be careful with them," Joanne said. She always said that before he left. She hugged and kissed his cheek. "I love you baby."

"Bye Grams." Noah slung his messenger bag over his shoulder, rushing out and hopping onto the bike, riding off down the street. He closed his eyes for a brief second as he coasted downhill. Wow, he felt great. He pumped his legs on the pedals, moving fast.

He checked the Alamo Freeze, Fran's, the bookstore, and the stadium, but no sign of Frankie. He skidded the bike to a stop in front of the Riggins house, running up to the front door and knocking once before opening the door. It was pretty much an open-door policy anyway. "Hey Steve!" he yelled.

The door to Steve's bedroom opened, a hot blonde wandering out wearing his football jersey. Noah lifted an eyebrow. "Hello," he greeted her.

"Hey," she said, going into the bathroom and closing the door. Noah couldn't remember her name, but he thought he recognized her as one of the Rally Girls from the practice field.

Noah leaned on the doorjamb. "Hey, Casanova!" Steve peered up from beneath the comforter, his head at the foot of the bed. He grunted a hello, disappearing back beneath the comforter. Noah rolled his eyes. "Where's Frankie? I can't find her."

"I don't know, check The Landing Strip."

"The strip club?" Yeah, that wasn't going to go over well. He was going to be locked away for the rest of his life if his father got wind of him going to a strip club and he was doing so well. He rubbed at his eyes. "Why?"

"Mom works there, I think Squeak said she was going to go hang out with her." Steve yawned, sitting up and glanced out the window. "Aw shit, Dad's home early! Hey! Tina! Get your ass out before my dad comes in!" He grabbed the comforter around him, shuffling into the living room and to the twins' room, banging on the door. "Dad's home!"

A stream of curses came from beneath the closed door. It opened, Ryan tripping out. "I don't know where Scott is, I lost him last night, I think he went to Anna's."

The front door opened, Billy Riggins, the Dillon Panthers head coach, entering the house. He stood in place, scanning all of their faces. He turned around, letting the door slam, echoing into the relatively empty space. He hopped off the stoop, his hands going to his hips. He glanced around again, before meeting Ryan's eyes. "Where's your brother?"

No sooner had he asked that did the front door open, Scott walking in wearing sunglasses, looking hungover, and carrying a cup of coffee. "What a night! That Anna is a hellcat!" He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw his father. "Oh shit."

"Yeah oh shit," Billy snapped. He jabbed his finger to the bathroom. "Get whoever is in there out of my house right now and all three of you are in for a world of hurt. I think Uncle Tim needs some of those scrub trees pulled up again."

They all began to groan, shuffling around. Noah chuckled, hiding his smile when Billy rounded on him. "Um…I was just looking for Frankie."

"Yeah, I hope so, from what I hear around town you're already in the doghouse for far worse than what my sons do on a daily basis," Billy drawled, walking around Noah into the kitchen, setting a travel coffee mug down in the sink. He lifted his head, shrugging. "Maybe you could teach my sons a thing or to about responsibility because they're sure as shit not learning from me. They're definitely learning on the football field though, so maybe I'll keep you." Noah was going to respond to how he was having fun practicing with the team when the front door opened again.

A woman entered, looking a little worse for wear and covered in glitter, despite wearing a relatively conservative outfit of black pants and black shirt. "I hate working the manager night shift, sorry I slept at the Strip, but I was so tired! Strippers are exhausting to control!" she exclaimed. She squinted at Noah, snapping her fingers. "You're not one of mine."

"All three of yours got into it last night," Billy called, as she set her purse and keys down on the kitchen table. He nodded to the bathroom. "There's a young lady and future employee of yours in there right now. Ryan better be cleaning his room, Scott is getting her out of the house, and Steve, so help me God whatever she did in there, you're cleaning it up!" He smiled at the woman. "Then all three of them are going over to Tim's to pull up scrub trees without spades or the truck." Billy gestured towards her. "Noah, this is my wife, Mindy. Mindy, this is Street's kid, he's here for the summer. He's playing with the team, he's fullback."

"Oh!" Mindy exclaimed, hurrying towards him, giving him a tight hug. "Hello! It's nice to meet you, I've heard the guys talk about you and Squeak mentioned you this morning when she dropped by the Strip…don't look at me like that Billy, I sent her on her way, poor thing, she's all alone this summer." She rambled off, walking into the kitchen to start coffee. "But damn, you look like your father!"

Actually everyone says I look like my mother. Noah scrubbed at his hair, which stood up a little in the same places as his father. It had a slight reddish tint to it, which he supposed came from his mother. Otherwise he had her green eyes and narrow facial features. He was just tall, like his dad. Not that anyone really knew that nowadays. He smiled. "Nice to meet you Mrs. Riggins."

"Oh please, Mrs. Riggins is what we called Frankie's mother when she was going around with that name, you call me Mindy." Mindy leaned on the counter, glaring at Ryan, who came out of the bedroom all cleaned up. She nodded to the living room. "Get the vacuum. You're on chores for this week, I don't want to hear it!" Ryan already was grumbling. "Snap to children!"

Noah backed up to the front door. "I'm going to go. Either of you seen Frankie?"

"I think she said she was going home," Mindy said. She smiled quickly. "Come by for dinner sometime Noah, I'm sure it will be alright with your grandparents."

Yeah, I'm sure that will be chaotic too, Noah thought, nodding and backing up completely to the door. He shot Steve a sympathetic look when he came out of his room with the cleaned up Rally Girl, who began to get a lecture from Mindy about responsible life choices. Sorry man, he thought, closing the door and smiling. I've been there; it sucks.

He picked up his bike, climbing back on and riding away, continuing through Dillon. He was about to call his grandfather to find out where Tim lived, since he hadn't yet been there, even if he'd been in town for damn near a month now, when he spotted Frankie's golf cart in front of an office building. Turning around in the street, he stopped in front of the building, walking over to inspect her golf cart. It was cold; she'd been in there awhile. He figured he'd just wait for her, settling back on his bike, leaning against the building. He glanced up and down the street, smiling at some of the other Panthers he'd played with.

"You seen Steve?" one of them called to him from across the street.

"He brought home a Rally Girl!" he called back. The guy nodded, rolling his eyes, as if saying 'figures.' Noah chuckled, smiling a little and glancing up and down the street again. Learn something, huh Dad? He straightened up slightly when he saw a guy coming out of a hardware store, speaking with the guy he recognized as the owner. For some reason he thought that he looked like Frankie. Was that her dad, he wondered. Tim Riggins?

Noah made a move to push away from the wall, pausing. He leaned back again. Not yet. He didn't feel like a lecture yet. He leaned back to the wall. He'd just wait for Frankie. Maybe she'd want to go swimming or something. It was hotter than hell. But for some reason it didn't bother him the way it had a few weeks ago. He smiled, closing his eyes and waiting it out.


	5. Squeak's Origin

**_Chapter 5: Squeak's Origin  
_**

Noah continued to wait for Frankie outside of the office building, studying the directory, wondering who she was up seeing. There were a few accountants, a couple of doctors, and some lawyers. None of which he could imagine her voluntarily going to see. He kept waiting, for several more minutes, giving her about two before he was going to leave. It was minute two when the door opened and she wandered out, as if nothing was amiss. "What's up Frankie?" he asked. Frankie scowled, walking by him to her golf cart. She shook her head, holding up a finger and climbed into the golf cart, shoving her sunglasses on and driving away, parking it across the street, between two buildings. Noah got on his bike, following her, coming to a stop beside her, frowning. "What's with the cloak and dagger?"

"No cloak and dagger, I'm watching someone."

"Who?" He hadn't seen her in like a week. She was acting so squirrelly. He nodded towards her again. "Hey, I was thinking that I might come by your house today, maybe meet your dad? I've been here like almost two weeks."

"And I've been here for almost four, big deal." Frankie leaned over the steering wheel, watching as Tyra walked out of the building, going to her car. She sighed, shaking her head, mumbling to herself. "Why are you going to the doctor?"

"Maybe she's sick."

"Something happened to her, I want to know what. My dad won't tell me. He tells me everything. They're all whispery and quiet. I don't like it. I don't trust them." Frankie focused on him again. She pushed her sunglasses up, narrowing her eyes, almost noticing him for the first time in the last five minutes. What is going on with you, Noah wondered. She cocked her head, her dark red hair falling over her shoulder. "Where've you been the last week?"

He held his hands out, rolling his eyes. "Duh, I've been in Dillon for the last week. What the hell have you been doing the last week? Your cousins haven't seen you. Your uncle hasn't seen you."

"He's been scouting the last few days, he just got back, the cousins went out to party last night and I'm too young, I had to be in bed like a good little Riggins at eight." She rolled her eyes, mumbling. "Plus my dad put a locked screen on my window so I don't climb out anymore."

"You climb out your window? Who does that?" This kid grew more insane the more he learned about her.

"Escapees." She ran her tongue over her teeth, nodding towards the back of the golf cart. "Put your bike on this, we'll go to my house. My dad's not home right now, but he should be later. Maybe Tyra will show up. I still want to know what's going on with her."

What's the deal with knowing about your aunt? Maybe it was just personal. If she didn't want to talk about it, she didn't want to talk about it. Frankie had asked him the first week he was here what he'd done to deserve Dillon, he'd told her it was none of her business, and she'd let it go. Why the need to know about this? Either way, Noah did as she said, attaching his bike to the back of the golf cart and climbed in beside her. Frankie set off, the golf cart trundling along down the streets. A few people honked their car horns at her; she was well known. Had to be, since she drove around in a damn golf cart.

"So where are the cousins now?" Frankie asked.

"In the doghouse. Coach came in to find them hungover with girls still in the house. Amateur hour if you ask me." You always got the girl out; you always counted on the parents being home early, Noah thought, shaking his head a little in disbelief.

"So what else is new?"

"You know their parents seem kind of harsh on them, how come they do it if they know they're going to get in trouble?"

Frankie shrugged. "How come they don't? Aunt Mindy works nights most of the time so she's never home and Uncle Billy is usually at the fieldhouse. They behave when they need to behave and party when they need to party. Since you don't seem to know yet, Steve is a scholar-athlete and so is Scott. Ryan is the one who just doesn't give a crap, has absolutely no brains, and is going to end up like my dad."

That was actually kind of what he'd pegged all three of them at. Steve was whip smart, coming up with all kinds of schemes to get money and having it actually succeed, Scott was practically like MacGyver with building things, but Ryan…yeah he wasn't so bright. Noah frowned a little at the mention of Frankie's father. He still didn't know anything about Tim Riggins, his father's supposed best friend. "Yeah, about your dad…"

Frankie continued, having not heard him. "It's me who is the good one of the family." Noah snorted. Frankie took offense, scowling at him. She pushed up her sunglasses. "It's true. I'll have you know that despite the s'mores incident of last year…"

"What the hell is that anyway? And why do they call you Squeak? The real reason? You still haven't told me."

Frankie ignored him, driving along the road towards the edge of town, lifting her voice over the sound of the tires rumbling over rocks and dirt. "I have a 4.5 GPA, I skipped two grades in elementary school, and I was reading Russian literature when I was eight. My parents just don't know what to do with me." She was quiet for a second, sighing hard. Her next statement was a complete 180 from what she'd been talking about before. "I think my mom is getting a divorce."

Shit. Noah frowned a little, speaking quietly. "I'm sorry about that."

She shook her head, quiet again. "Don't be, I think they've been having problems for awhile. She tries to hide it, but I know that they've been fighting." Frankie's voice dropped even farther. "She's not happy." She bit her lower lip again, whispering. "I think my stepdad cheated on her, but yeah, I'm not sure. He was…is…" She sighed, rolling her eyes. Her voice faded again. "My stepdad is Ethan Rivera."

Ethan Rivera…that name sounded familiar…after a few minutes he closed his eyes in realization. "The baseball player?"

"Yeah, the baseball player. Most home runs in an entire season for the Washington Nationals two years ago. World Series. MVP, all that stuff. He's shortstop. Catching up on all kinds of stuff that I can't remember, but he's also one of the highest paid baseball players in the country, which is probably why Mom put up with him for so long." Frankie turned onto a road with no sign, driving down along the edge, the golf cart puttering along merrily. She shrugged. "I really liked him, now…now I don't know what to think if the rumors are true."

That sucks. I'm sorry. Noah wasn't sure what to say. He looked out over the grass fields they were passing through. It was really pretty, when you were out here in it…appreciating it. He looked ahead, seeing a white house standing on a hill, a little ways from the road. "That your house?" he asked, changing the subject.

"Yeah, that's Daddy's pride and joy."

"Not you?" he teased.

Frankie rolled her eyes. "My father wanted a boy, hence the name Frankie."

"I thought your name was like a million long."

"Not really. Mary Francesca Dylan Garrity-Riggins. My last name being hyphenated is what screws it up." Frankie pulled the golf cart up a driveway, bringing it to the side of the porch. She powered it off and climbed out, carrying her bag up to the front door. She pushed it open, waving her hand around. "Mi casa es su casa."

Nice house. Noah closed the door, looking around. It was rustic. Exposed beams, rough-stained banister. Hardwood floors. Wooden furniture. Nice. They had a cabin in upstate New York like this. He walked around into the kitchen, which was cozy. There were pictures and notices on the fridge door and dirty dishes in the sink and on the counter, along with a series of beer and Yoo-Hoo bottles on the counter. "Nice," he said out loud. He flashed a quick smile at Frankie's frown. "Seriously. It's cool."

"Dad built it on his own." Frankie unearthed a bottle of Yoo-Hoo from the pantry. She flushed pink when he frowned at it and immediately glanced at the bottles on the counter. "Um…I have a problem. Admitting it is the first step, I'm told."

"I should say so, there's more Yoo-Hoo there than beer."

"I'm a Riggins, it should probably be the beer, you want one? You can probably sneak one, I doubt my dad is going to notice."

Noah laughed. "It's like eleven in the morning."

"Five o'clock somewhere."

He walked into the living room, taking note of the La-Z-Boy chair parked in front of a flatscreen television that took up almost an entire corner of the room. There were some photos on the mantelpiece and a sectional sofa in the center of the room. A door led to a short hall, where there was another closed door. "What's that?" he asked, pointing.

"Guest room, my Aunt Tyra is there now." Frankie crawled over the sofa, grunting and stretching out. She sighed. "I love it here. Mom's townhouse is just so boring."

"But you live with a major league baseball player. A rich one, I bet you have a mansion."

Frankie shrugged; Noah wasn't sure if that was an affirmative answer or not on the mansion. "Yeah, well not that I'd notice. Mom makes sure that I live a normal life, besides, no one cares about his relationship with Mom, they still talk about the starlets he dated all the time before he met her." Frankie sat up, leaning on the back of the couch while he wandered around. "So um, how's your dad? You talk to him?" She scowled. "I still don't know why you're here."

And Private Eye Frankie was probably very disappointed in that, now that she seemed to be losing steam on finding out why Tyra was in town, he thought, picking up a picture from the desk, hooting in laughter. "Is this little carrot top you?! Look how pissed off you look!"

"Shut up, put that down."

He put it down, but only because he saw how flushed and embarrassed she was. This was great, he was finally knocking her off her feet, making her the one having to explain stuff. Noah picked up another picture, smiling at it. "So this is your mom?" he asked, turning it to face her.

Frankie walked over, nodding. "Yeah, that was when I won a science fair thing a couple years back. Dad actually came to Virginia for it, because it was national." She shrugged, looking down at her feet. "Dad said once Mom was the most beautiful girl in the world. I know when he said it he was drunk. I didn't realize until I was looking at pictures of her. You don't notice it when she's actually walking around."

Noah tended to agree with Frankie. Her mother was incredibly beautiful. He set the picture back on the mantle, glancing at the girl, who was staring off in space, twirling her braid on her shoulder. She seemed lost. He leaned against the fireplace brick, crossing his arms over his chest. For a kid, he didn't notice her age. She looked like a thirteen-year old, but certainly didn't act like it. "What's up?" he asked.

She pursed her lips, rolling her eyes towards him, her arms crossed. She shook her head. "Nothing," she whispered.

"Something."

Frankie shrugged, walking back to the couch, lowering herself onto the edge. He took the spot beside her, folding his hands between his knees, leaning forward and turning his head to peer up at her. She seemed small in her giant hoodie over a tank top, a dirty pair of capris, and her ever-present red Chucks. She twisted some of her bangles around her on wrists, slumping backwards. "So you want to know why they really call me Squeak?" she asked, whispering.

"Not really, just what Steve told me the first day I met them."

"Yeah, well there's another reason and it's not because I was a pipsqueak." Frankie turned her finger around in a circle. "Squeak, squeak, squeak. The squeaky wheel. The loud one. The annoying one. They call me Squeak because I'm always around; I'm always making sounds. I thought it was funny for a while, until I realized they said it because they were annoyed at me. It's what I do. I make noise, but there's nothing else there. Just something that's broken and squeaks around forever." She smiled sadly, whispering. "The only person I don't mind calling me Squeak is my aunt, because she says it like what it is, you know?"

Not really, but he figured maybe it was like she didn't mean it the way that the cousins meant it. "It bothers you, huh?" he whispered.

"You get used to it after awhile, but…it'd be nice to be known as Frankie with them sometimes, not the annoying one." She closed her eyes, falling back again, her head bouncing on the cushions, staring up at the ceiling. "I'm just the squeaky wheel."

That was kind of sad, but Noah didn't think it was true. "You are kind of annoying," he said, smiling quickly. He poked her in her ribs, which had her curling up. He grinned. "Come on kid, you're not squeaky. You're just…persistent."

"I always get what I want, but I want some things that I'm not really getting." Frankie shrugged, whispering. Her hazel eyes lifted, staring straight into his. It was unnerving, how direct she could be. Maybe some people would think it was rude, but Noah just figured she was one of those rare people who didn't bullshit. "I actually don't care why you're in Dillon. You don't drink, so it's probably something with that, even when you go party with my cousins. You don't talk about your friends, so it might be something with that. But you also don't talk about your parents, not that that's a great conversation starter, but seeing as our parents were basically in a threesome for two years…"

"What the hell?" His eyes widened. That was one he hadn't heard before. "Um, my dad just said that they were friends…"

"You don't know the stories?" Frankie shrugged, screwing up her face, thinking. "My mom was your dad's girlfriend. Until his accident. They broke up a couple months later and she started dating my dad about a year or so later, but I'm fairly certain there was overlap."

"That's disgusting." Noah frowned slightly. He knew absolutely nothing about his dad's life beyond New York. It was always kept so close to the vest. He hoped he could get some information, maybe from Tim.

"My mom doesn't talk about it, its just stuff I've managed to sneak out of them over the years." She tucked her braid behind her shoulder, standing up, snapping her fingers. She sighed, nibbling her lower lip, staring off into the kitchen. "You want to get out of here?" she asked, turning on her heel.

Noah glanced around the house. "What about your dad?"

"He'll be home soon." Frankie walked out of the house, hopping off the back porch, walking towards a pond in the distance. She took off running after a few minutes, disappearing from his view.

He waited a second, glancing around the house again, walking into the kitchen, his hands going into his pockets. He stepped towards a small desk area of the counter, glancing at some papers. Not snooping, just…curious. Frankie had to be the way she was for a reason; he didn't like not knowing anything about Tim. If his father trusted him, that was one thing, but…he hadn't told him anything, almost like Jason was waiting for his opinion of Tim. Wanted him to go in cold or something.

He picked up a notepad, staring at the feminine handwriting. Neat handwriting, so probably not Frankie, who he was positive, probably, had serial killer writing. "Dr. Kushner, 9AM…call for job interview with Notre Dame Prep after 2P." Dr. Kushner, he thought, closing his eyes. That was one of the names on the building that Frankie had been staking out. Not his business, he reminded himself, setting the notepad back down.

He walked to the porch, waiting a beat and then hopped off, walking towards the pond, and wherever Frankie had gone. He'd wait. Hell, he still had an entire summer to talk to Tim.


	6. Meet Cute

**_A/N:_**Thanks so much for the reviews! Glad people are enjoying this story. Here's a 'bonus' chapter for the weekend (I wasn't planning on updating). Thanks again for the reviews :)

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**_Chapter 6: Meet Cute_**

"Hey Frankie? You got a minute?"

Frankie looked up from her music stand, where she'd been scribbling in a sequence of notes. She turned a little in her seat, staring at Tyra, who had stepped out onto the porch. She glanced around her, half expecting to see her father. "Where's Dad?" she asked. She leaned forward over the keyboard attached to her MacBook, making another note on the stand.

Tyra snapped her fingers at her side, approaching her slowly. "He's actually inside, I think he's talking to your mother." She tucked her hair behind her ear, sitting beside her on the porch bench. She leaned over. "What are you doing?"

"Writing a song."

"Oh yeah, you're into music?"

Yes, I'm into music. What do you want? Just spit it out. Frankie wasn't close with her Aunt Tyra, but she knew her to be someone who was much more vocal and persistent with things than she had been lately. Tough, she thought. She shrugged her shoulder. "I like music, yes."

"How many instruments do you play?"

Okay, fine, I'll entertain you. "I don't know, I just play instruments. It's a thing. Like…piano, guitar, drums, and I play a mean sousaphone." She'd never touched a sousaphone in her life.

"You know, sarcasm often is used to mask deep insecurities."

Don't shrink me. "Really, I didn't know," she said, sarcastic. She arched an eyebrow, her lip quirking. "Kidding." Frankie sighed, shoving a pen in her mouth, tapping on the keys again. "What do you want?"

Tyra leaned back on the porch bench. "I wanted to talk to you about why I'm here. I think you need to know and well, you're not a baby, so…I don't need to hide this from you. I know we're not close, but since this is upsetting you so much…your dad and I decided it would be best." She reached over, closing the MacBook and turning Frankie towards her. She cocked her head, her voice soft when she spoke. "I had something happen with my job. You know I was a counselor at a school, right?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, well…" Tyra trailed off, taking a deep breath. She whispered. "You're thirteen…you might think your life really sucks but actually Frankie, it's really good. You're very lucky."

"How am I lucky?" she complained. She snorted. "My mom and dad can't talk to each other without both of them looking like they're going to go shoot themselves in the head…my stepdad just filed for divorce, probably because he left my mom for some TV star…" She turned her head to Tyra, arching an eyebrow, her voice soft. "Yeah, I get it, I have a roof on my head and all that, but sometimes it really sucks not seeing your father for nine months of the year…for not being able to even find out why your parents aren't even together or why you don't live where you…where you want to be anymore."

"You done?"

"Yes."

"You're lucky," Tyra whispered. A muscle ticked in her jaw. "You have a father who loves you. One who didn't run off like mine or like your dad's. You have a mother who cares for you and you have everything you could ever want from both of them. You're lucky."

What's this about, Frankie wondered. She turned away from the table, looking at Tyra. Tyra waited a second and then closed her eyes. "I had a girl that I counseled at the school. She was a lot like you. Very smart, very bright…her parents loved her, she had friends, and she seemed so happy. Maybe once and awhile she got upset and depressed, but everyone thought she was great, she was perfect and so did I…until…" Tyra took another deep breath, her voice hard when she spoke. "Until I got a phone call at three in the morning from the school principal, saying that he'd just gotten word from local police and her parents that she'd killed herself."

Oh my God. Frankie stared. She didn't know what to say. She started to feel clammy…and like her heart was stuck in her throat. Tyra stared her down. That's why you…you lost your job and…She swallowed, but the lump was still stuck. Tyra shook her head, whispering and continued. "Frankie she was on my watch…I should have seen it and I didn't. She went home and swallowed a bottle of pills and they couldn't bring her out of the coma she'd put herself into. The layoff came after that. The destruction of my relationship at the time came too. Maybe you could say I had a nervous breakdown." Tyra snorted. "It's been a hell of a month, Frankie." She chuckled. "Your dad came and got me in Austin when I was too exhausted to get into my car and drive. When I was sobbing nonstop because I thought I had killed that girl. He was there for me, Frankie, when everything was falling apart, he was there for me. I'm not with him and I don't believe I ever will be with him, because he is a friend and I love him, but no, I'm not with him."

I feel like a total idiot. "I'm sorry," she mumbled; she felt stupid. Really, really stupid. What was she supposed to say? Aunt Tyra had a meltdown and she'd been making it so much worse. I always make it worse. I'm sorry. I'm really sorry, she kept thinking, over and over in her head. She tucked her hair behind her ear, turning her head and looking up. She drew her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. "I'm sorry," she repeated.

"You're thirteen, Frankie, I didn't expect you to understand…neither did your dad, but you had to know, especially since you were thinking it was wrong and I didn't…" Tyra shook her head. "I didn't think you would do anything dramatic or upsetting, but I didn't want a mistaken thing to be the reason for you hating your dad or causing trouble." Tyra cocked her head, smiling again. "I'm better now, in case you were too afraid to ask."

"Yeah, I mean…you are okay?" You had a nervous breakdown. It explained a lot. Explained why she was always sleeping and why she had the doctor's appointment with the psychologist. Why Dad was always yelling at her to give Tyra a break, stop being such a little brat around her and complaining so much.

"I'm fine. Your dad helped," Tyra whispered. She glanced away. "I'm actually planning on leaving after Fourth of July, I got a job in Evanston with Northwestern. Free tuition for my Master's and I'll work in the college admissions office as a counselor," she said, flashing a quick smile. Tyra leaned forward a little, her voice quiet. "Frankie, I know you're not my biggest fan, I mean…probably some of your mother rubbing off on you."

She thought of something; something her mom said once. "Mom told me once she wanted to be more like you," Frankie blurted out. It just popped into her head. Something she'd told her a long time ago, when she was younger, and asking her mom about Tyra on a drive back from the airport. Tyra had seemed so glamorous to her, driving a fancy car, wearing pretty clothes, and looking like a model. She smiled at Tyra's surprised look. "It's true, she said it awhile ago. She wanted to be more like you, I don't know why, but yeah."

Can we be done with this now? It's too serious, Frankie thought. Tyra stood up, letting go of her hand and walked to the house, turning again, smiling quickly. "You know Frankie, your dad is really good. He's a really good guy and I know you might be frustrated with him because…because he doesn't talk about me or tell you what you want to know about your mom and him, but…" She released a long breath, her arms falling to her sides. "He just…he loves you so much, more than anything that he…well he let your mom go. Because you loved you guys that much."

What did that mean? Frankie stood quickly; it was the closest she'd come to an explanation for anything in her life. She stepped towards Tyra. Her heart pounded. "What do you mean?" she asked, digging her fingernails into her palms, excited. Her eyes lit up, waiting for anything, just a tiny nugget of information.

Tyra closed her eyes briefly, sighing. "Frankie, I don't want to step on anything with your parents, but…" She smiled again, her voice soft. "Your dad still loves your mom very much. They didn't divorce because they didn't love each other anymore." She glanced out at the land and then back to Frankie, her voice quiet. "They divorced because this wasn't enough for your mother and your dad didn't want to hold her back."

What was that supposed to mean? Frankie's eyes widened, looking at the land behind the house. She returned her gaze to Tyra. "What do you mean it's not enough?"

The other woman, her aunt, she supposed Tyra still was to her, chuckled, and sighed, sad. "You're still too young to understand yet, but…" She bit her lower lip. "There's a reason your dad and I aren't together. We want different things and that's…often that's more important that what you might feel for someone…at least, that I know." This was getting really serious, Frankie thought, trying to follow Tyra's logic. Tyra glanced at the house again, swallowing hard, her throat bobbing. "But you'll understand when you're older."

I understand now. I think I do…wait, no! Tyra was already going inside. She pushed back from the porch, chasing her into the house, across the living room and into her bedroom. I still need some explanation! "But they don't hate each other anything, right?" Frankie asked. She shook her head fast, her hair flying around her head. "I mean, Dad still loves Mom, but…"

"Frankie, you need to talk to them," Tyra said, her voice firm. There would be no more answers now, Frankie thought. The other woman released another breath. "Your mom and dad have known each other almost as long as I have known the both of them and I can't even remember not knowing them. Talk to them, but don't get mad if they don't give you answers you want, because you are still thirteen years old and hey, adults will be adults."

Damnit. That age thing. I'm not just thirteen! I understand, I deserve to know! Frankie looked over her shoulder when she heard footsteps. Tim emerged around a corner, looking between the both of them. "Problem?" he asked them both, holding his cell phone in his hand, twisting it around.

"No, we were just talking," Tyra said.

Tim shot a look at Frankie. "Don't bother her," he said, his voice soft. Frankie hated it when he lowered his voice that quiet.

"She's not bothering me."

"I'll be the judge of that," Tim said jokingly. He nodded towards Tyra, his hands going to his hips. "You want to come with us to town? I have to stop at the hardware store and get some stuff."

Tyra shook her head, smiling and glancing at Frankie. "Naw, I've infringed on your daddy-daughter time enough this summer. I've got some plans and packing to do. Starting my life over again," she laughed. She rolled her eyes. "You think I'd be used to it by now."

"It's a better job," Tim said. He shrugged. "And we'll still be here if you need us."

"I'll miss working with the kids, but I can always do that after I get my Master's. Who knows, maybe I can become a Dean like Mrs. Taylor." Tyra closed her eyes, rubbing at her forehead, whispering. "I just need a break from teenagers."

"You know Mrs. Taylor is coming here for the Fourth of July thing, Buddy told me."

Why do I stand here, Frankie wondered, as the two of them went back and forth, occasionally teasing each other about something or another. She narrowed her eyes, something dawning on her as she watched it. Something she hadn't noticed, because she was so caught up with wondering if they were seeing each other. They didn't even act like it, they seemed more like how she treated her cousins. I'm an idiot, Frankie thought, smacking her forehead with her palm. She groaned, scrubbing at her face. "Will both of you stop? Dad, come on, what did Mom say on the phone?"

"Just giving me her travel plans." He seemed shady.

Frankie rolled her eyes; her mother hadn't been entirely forthcoming when she'd asked for information on Ethan. So she'd gone to Google, which she'd been forbidden to do and searched, finding articles on sports blogs and websites about Ethan Rivera being back on the market, having separated from his "pretty sports trainer wife." It was always followed up with "The marriage produced no children, but Rivera has a 13-year old stepdaughter, his wife's child by a previous marriage." It was the same byte she saw everywhere, which told her that his publicist must have been working overtime. Nothing about infidelity, just that he was suddenly spotted in Los Angeles with an ex-girlfriend, some honey he'd been with for a few years before her mom came into the picture.

Tim slung his arm over her shoulders. "Come on kid, let's leave Tyra alone."

"I have work to do," she said, walking out of the house with him. She made a move towards her golf cart, but Tim swung her around to his truck. "Hey! I don't have my bag."

"You don't need it."

"I still have to do surveillance on Noah to find out why he's here."

"Yeah, I have got to talk to him, Jason called me last night," Tim said, talking almost to himself. He backed out of the drive, glancing at her, nodding to the steering wheel. "You want to learn this when we come back?"

Frankie studied him for a second. She was dead serious when she spoke a moment later. "What makes you think I don't already know how to drive it?"

He glanced sideways, his smile fading. "Frankie," he warned.

She giggled. "Relax Dad, I don't know how to drive it." She shrugged. "Very well." Frankie changed the subject from her hidden attempts at grand theft auto while her father was either working or sleeping and she had the truck available to her. Or her grandfather's Suburban, which was an absolute beast when you were twelve and trying to drive it out of the parking lot. "So Tyra told me why she was here." She paused. "I'm really sorry."

Tim gave a curt nod. "You should be."

"I didn't know it was that…bad."

"Again, you should be sorry. She's gone through a lot the last couple months, but she's Tyra, she's already close to normal." Tim turned off their road onto one of the main drags. He lowered the windows, speaking over the sound of the wind. "I told you we were just friends Frankie. We've always been friends."

"What about Jason?"

"What about him?"

"You're friends with him. You know why Noah's in town?"

Tim shook his head, grinning. "No, even if I did, I wouldn't tell you."

"Why not?"

"It's what friends do. Keep secrets."

I wouldn't know, I have almost no friends, Frankie thought, peering out the window. She wondered what Noah had been up to the last few days. He'd come over looking for her dad, hung out for a few hours, and then left when Tim hadn't come home from work when she thought he would. She knew he'd been having a ton of fun with her cousins, playing football and going to some of the parties, as well as making sure he was with his grandparents enough. He was supposed to be learning a lesson, he'd told her. I'll have to call him, she thought. She still wanted to know what sort of lesson. Frankie reached for her phone, jumping when it rang in her hand. "Jaws?" Tim demanded. He laughed. "I told you to change that, she's gonna' think I put you up to it if she hears it."

"No she won't and she already got mad when I had 'Spoonful of Sugar,'" Frankie said, hitting 'answer.' She quirked her lip, immediately punching the Bluetooth button on the dashboard, her phone automatically syncing with the car. She set it down in the cupholder, sweetly answering. "Hello Mommy."

"Hello Francesca," her mother's soft voice said. She could hear her smiling. "How are you? It's been awhile since we've talked, I wanted to check and see if you're doing okay, you need me to send you anything?"

"Money?" she asked hopefully.

Lyla's voice hardened. "Your father pays for you for the summers, is he not giving you any money?"

Tim glared at Frankie. She smiled innocently. He cleared his throat. "Um, you're on speaker Lyla."

Lyla paused. Static filled the car and Tim lifted his eyebrow, smiling at Frankie, who was trying not to burst into giggles. "I see," she drawled. She loudly cleared her throat. No, no, no, Frankie thought, knowing that Lyla would shut down. "Well then, I'll call you later Francesca."

"No, wait! And it's Frankie, Mom, Francesca is for when I'm in trouble."

"Hmmm, well how do you know you're not in trouble right now?"

Huh, good point, but Frankie couldn't remember what she'd done with her mother involved to make her mad. Unless she was just retroactively mad about everything she'd done the last three weeks that her father was mad about…she screwed up her nose, unable to follow her logic, shaking it from her mind. "When are you coming out here?"

"Next week, I can't wait to see you!"

"You should stay with us," Frankie quickly said, before Tim could interject, already hesitating and leaning over the steering wheel nervously. Her mind was racing. "You know Grandpa's apartment is too small and Aunt Tyra is leaving after the big festival thingy thing and…and I think it could be really cool or maybe you could stay in my room…we can all..." She trailed off, not finishing. Be a family.

Lyla sighed. "Frankie I don't know…"

"Come on!"

"We'll talk about it when she gets here," Tim said, finalizing the discussion. He cleared his throat; loudly. Sign he was ready to get out of here, Frankie thought. He reached for the button to disconnect the phone call. "Lyla we're at the hardware store, I'm going to turn you off now."

"Yeah, well, I need to get to work."

"Tell Ethan I said hi," Frankie whispered. She sighed. "If you're still talking to him."

There was another period of silence. "Frankie have you been on Google?" Lyla demanded.

"No," she lied.

"Francesca."

Okay, now I'm in trouble. Frankie reached for her phone. "I'll talk to you when you get here," she chose to say. She said her love yous and hoped that her father would say something, but Tim kept his mouth closed, climbing out of the truck and closing the door when she ended the call. She followed him into the hardware store, going off on her own while he went to get whatever he needed for whatever project he was working on. Frankie was perusing the spray paint for a project she had in mind when she heard someone say her name. She lifted her head. "Hey," she said, greeting Noah, who appeared beside her. "What are you doing here?"

"My grandpa is redoing the kitchen, I needed to pick up more grout," he said, holding up a basket full of spray-in grout stuff. He looked around. "I was with Steve, don't know where he went. He said he needed spray paint, but he must already have gotten it."

"That's never a good thing when a Riggins is looking for spray paint."

"He actually needs it for the practice field, to touch up the lines on the field," Noah chuckled. He rolled his eyes. "You're thinking badly of us, it's not good. Now you on the other hand…" He lifted up the hot pink bottle she'd been looking at. "This doesn't go on football fields."

Frankie was actually thinking of using it on a stretch of bare concrete on an abandoned building, for some kind of Banksy type of artwork, but decided hot pink might be too much. She was just going to go basic black, to be honest. She crossed her arms over her chest. "You've been gone," she accused.

"Been busy playing football, your uncle is tough."

"I thought you were being punished by being in Dillon. Seems like you're having fun."

"Well it's not really as close to hell as I thought it was when I showed up," Noah said, begrudgingly. He reached over, tweaking her elbow, grinning. "You should come hang out with us. I can't believe I'm saying that, but you're not so bad."

What a compliment, she thought sarcastically; regardless, she felt her cheeks warm a little, stepping away when he tried to grab at her side, tickling her. She giggled, covering her mouth quickly. Stupid! Frankie tried to sober up quickly, rolling her eyes. "Whatever. I'm busy."

"Yeah? How's your mom doing?" he asked. She frowned. He explained, gesturing towards the window. "I get my news from the local library's shoddy internet connection. Saw that there are rumors out there about their separation being for real and not just...well rumors. Anything official?"

"Well she'll be here next week to talk to me in person, not that it matters I guess, since I've already figured it all out." Frankie looked down the aisle, seeing her father walking towards them. She dodged out of the way of Noah, lest her father get any bad ideas about the two of them. He came to a stop beside Noah, frowning at the both of them; obviously not liking that a boy he didn't know was talking with his daughter. Or so she thought. "Uh…Dad, this is Noah."

The look of annoyance instantly faded. "Noah," he said, his voice quiet. He smiled, long and slow, offering his hand. "Nice to finally see you. I'm Tim."

Noah immediately dropped his basket on the floor, shaking Tim's hand. "Nice to meet you, I'm Noah…she already said that. My dad told me to find you, sorry I haven't, but I've been busy the last few weeks."

"Probably thought you'd be bored as hell this summer," Tim commented.

"Yeah, that's…understatement. Probably would be, if Frankie hadn't introduced me to your brother and nephews…I'm training with them this summer." Noah chuckled. "Buddy Garrity wants me to join the football team next year, I guess I'm the best fullback that he's seen in his life."

The look of happiness at seeing his friend's son immediately dropped. Tim's voice cooled. "Buddy Garrity said you're the best fullback he's ever seen?" He smiled, tight and his voice softened. "Interesting." That's not good, Frankie thought, singing in her head. 'Grandpa's in trouuuubllle...' She lifted her eyebrows, glancing up, trying to hide her smile.

Noah had absolutely no idea why Tim cooled off. "Yeah, he was really excited about it."

"Hmmm, well we'll just have to see about that. Come by the house tomorrow afternoon, you know where it is?"

"Uh, yes sir."

Tim harrumphed, nodding towards the checkout. "Frankie, I got what I needed, I'm going to be outside. Nice to meet you Noah, your father wants us to talk, so…we'll talk I guess, whatever that means."

Guess that means you'll have to tell someone why you're in Dillon for the summer, Frankie thought, meeting Noah's eyes again. He didn't seem as happy as he had a moment ago. In fact, he seemed a little…she narrowed her eyes. He seemed ashamed of something. She wondered what he did. "Whatever you did, probably not as bad as my s'mores incident," she said, trying to tease him.

He didn't smile, but glanced down at the basket in his hands. He picked it back up. "Whatever. I'll see you later Frankie."

"Yeah, bye," she thought, flushing when he leaned in to give her a quick hug. She giggled a little; maybe he liked her! How stupid was that though? No one liked her. Plus, he was too old. She chewed on the inside of her cheek for a second, before she took off running outside, climbing up into the truck, where her father was on the phone with someone. "Who are you talking to?" she asked loudly.

Tim frowned at her. "Yeah, okay…bye." He hung up, making a face. "Client, kid. I do work for a living."

"Yeah, what do you do? I told my class at school once that you were a spy."

"That would be fun."

"You can't work on cars because you can't get a license, right? Because of jail?" Frankie had found that little thing out a couple years ago, when she'd gone snooping through his things and found the paperwork for his release from probation. She'd felt betrayed and was pissed off, but he'd used it to teach her what not to do in life, although now she wondered if it was true, because she'd mentioned it once to her Uncle Billy, who got all sad and said that it was a long story, but she was too young to know it yet.

Tim glared at her; he hated her mentioning jail. "Yes," he said, his voice low. He shrugged, changing the subject back to his job. "I…get things."

"You're like a spy then."

"No, I'm not."

"You're a procurer," she said, giggling. It was a funny word. She leaned closer to him. "You're a spy, just admit it."

"Will you shut up?" he laughed, grabbing her neck and pushing her head down a little, ruffling her hair up over her face. He smiled when she sat up, her hair over her eyes. "See kid? You can be fun! Get rid of this angry teenager thing, it sucks."

"I'm not an angry teenager."

Tim broke into laughter, both of them beginning to go back and forth, something they were very good at. Frankie was sure they always had an answer for everything. They'd never get the last word with each other, because someone was always trying to get it back on them. She leaned against the window, staring out at it, smiling and watching everything pass them by. She glanced at her phone. Six weeks left to her time in Dillon, she couldn't believe she'd already been there for half the summer already.

"I love you Frankie."

She looked up, surprised at the sudden burst of emotion from her dad. He wasn't looking at her, his gaze out the windshield on the road, his eyes shielded by his sunglasses. Frankie smiled, lowering her head back to the window, pushing her sunglasses back up on her nose. She sighed. "Whatever. Love you too." Don't make a big deal out of it, she thought with an eyeroll, but she continued to smile.


	7. Family Night

_**Chapter 7: Family Night**_

"Tell him the time that you thought you scored the touchdown, but totally didn't because you were in the wrong team's endzone!" Scott yelled through a mouthful of spaghetti, while his twin punched him, complaining that the only reason he did that was because it was Pee Wee and he also had a concussion. Scott rolled his eyes. "Yeah right, you're just stupid."

"Mom dropped him when he was a baby," Steve said, glancing at Noah, who was just grinning, sitting beside him at the dinner table while Billy yelled over the sound of Scott choking as he tried to swallow another mouthful of spaghetti, that in fact yes, Ryan did have a concussion and that explained it.

Ryan screwed his eyes up. "I'm also dyslexic."

"Are you seriously?" Noah asked, falling for it.

Mindy rolled her eyes, lifting her glass of wine up, grinning at her son. "No, Steve just dropped him on his head when he was a baby, right Steve?"

"You're the one that gave him to me to hold, plus I told you I didn't want anymore siblings."

"You didn't want anything, you were two when they were born."

"Still don't want them," Steve mumbled, helping himself to another helping of spaghetti. The mountainous bowl was almost empty, with four growing football players at the table. He glanced at Noah. "You having fun? Sorry it's so loud."

It was awesome. Noah sat on the other side of the table from the twins, with Billy and Mindy on opposite ends, Billy trying to talk to him about which colleges were recruiting him and which ones his dad approved of, all the while Mindy just sat and watched, clearly entertained at the antics of her boys. He thought she was a pretty cool mom. A hot mom too, and still pretty cool. He answered questions throughout the rest of dinner, questions about his college prospects; right now he wasn't sure what he planned to do with college. Billy asked about his dad's job, working as an agent. Noah didn't want to talk about that; his dad's job was his dad's entire life. He didn't feel like contributing to it from afar, so he gave the standard answer about yeah, he got tickets to some good sporting events but other than that, it was boring paperwork, like any job.

"Hey Minds, remember that Coach Taylor is going to come to dinner while he's here sometime next week," Billy said.

Mindy set her glass of wine down, glaring at him. "You tell me this now? I have to plan!"

"Well you have a week to plan."

"Unbelievable."

Noah frowned, glancing at Steve, who was slurping up spaghetti. "Who is Coach Taylor?"

"Whose Coach Taylor?" the twins said at once. Scott pointed his fork at him. "Only one of the best high school football coaches since Uncle Tim."

"Hey! What about me?" Billy demanded.

"Oh that's right, you're also a coach," Ryan drawled, grinning. He shrugged, glancing back at Noah, who was still frowning. "He's Uncle Tim's old coach."

Oh yeah, that's right, Frankie told him something about that, he supposed he didn't pay attention. Wait, his dad told him to talk to some guy named Taylor. Noah shrugged. Guess he was going to meet him next week at some point. He poured himself some more water, picking up the glass and glancing around again, smiling. This was really fun. It made him miss home a little; they never had family dinners like this. Mom usually worked late at the hospital, since she'd gotten her nursing degree several years ago. Dad was always in his office at home or late at the office in Manhattan. Noah continued to engage in the conversation, getting up and helping clear the table, which he noted the three boys all did, even as they complained about it. He helped with the dishes, finally breaking away with Steve and going to hang around outside, tossing a football back and forth.

"Your family is cool," Noah said.

"It's alright." Steve glanced at the house, where through the open window he could see his parents laughing at something the other said. He rolled his eyes. "They're so gross."

"Mine will do that now and then too."

"I'm never getting married."

"Same."

They continued to throw the ball around, until Ryan ran out, telling Steve that his girlfriend, the Rally Girl from the other day, was on the phone for him. Noah stood outside by the pool, tossing the football back and forth as Ryan approached him, offering his cell phone. "What's this?" he laughed.

Ryan shrugged. "I know that you're banned from your phone, figured that with my dad otherwise occupied molesting my mother in there that you might want to sneak a call."

"Thanks." Noah took the phone, walking off and swiping his finger across the bottom. His first thought was to call Amanda, his girlfriend, but…he bit his lower lip; she probably still didn't want to talk to him. He punched in a number, waiting a second and found that he was accurate that his father might still be working. "Hey Dad," he mumbled.

Jason paused again. "I don't recognize this number."

"Ryan Riggins let me borrow his phone."

"I didn't want you calling your friends."

Aw shit, now he'd lose some of his privileges or something. "I'm not, I swear!" Noah sighed, mumbling and walking away from the house. "Not that you'll believe me, but…I'm not calling my friends. I'm at dinner at the Riggins house."

"Pizza or Chinese?"

"Mrs. Riggins made spaghetti and meatballs."

"Lyla?"

"Mindy."

"Oh."

They both paused, neither saying anything for a moment. Noah scrubbed at his hair, sending the reddish brown strands sky-high. He felt like an idiot for doing this. No way Dad would care about him reaching out. He went to take a seat on the diving board, propping his feet up on a float that was making its way in the water. "Um…so you're at the office?"

Jason sighed; Noah could picture him in his rumpled suit shirt and no tie, a jacket tossed over a chair and his feet hanging over the sides of the foot pedals of his wheelchair, which he did when he was tired. "Yeah…I'm renegotiating the Smash Williams contract. It's ridiculous, he wants all this crazy stuff…I have no idea how I'm going to get it."

"You could call his mother," Noah said. He was just joking, knowing what his dad had said about Smash only listening to his mother, God, and this Coach Taylor. He laughed a little. "She'll get him to back down."

"That's actually a good idea."

He trailed off, frowning a little. "I was kidding Dad."

"I'm not, I'm calling her tomorrow, thanks son."

His eyes widened; wow. When was the last time that Jason had called him 'son'? Noah swallowed hard. He felt weird. Tingling. He smiled shakily. "Yeah? Cool…um…so next week is this Fourth of July thing…"

"I heard."

"It's kind of a big deal around here…I mean I don't think it's next week, but like, two weeks from tomorrow or something, I can't remember the days are all…"

"Noah I'm really busy…I have to renegotiate these contracts before training camp starts for a lot of these guys and that's in about a month. How is it with your grandparents?"

That changed the subject he thought, sighing. He told Jason about Gramps redoing the kitchen and Grams obsessing over her garden. "I'm sick of tomatoes."

"She does that sort of thing, fretting over your well being, she's a mother and a grandmother, it's what they do." Jason paused. "Have you talked to Tim yet?"

"I met him earlier today."

"Good. What did you think?"

Noah shrugged. Was there a right answer? "He seemed okay. It was just for a few minutes…Buddy Garrity told me that I was the best fullback he'd ever seen and Tim seemed annoyed when I told him…" he trailed off, eyes widening in surprise when Jason let out a loud laugh. "What? What's so funny?" What am I missing?

Jason hooted again, slamming his knee. "Oh my gosh! Tim has two things you don't question him on. His football prowess and…well something else I'm not getting into with my seventeen-year old son. He played fullback, Noah. Don't let the fact that he never played in college or anything else mean something. He was great. He was All-American."

Wow. Even I'm not All-American. Yet, he thought, thinking of the scouts that showed up to all his practices and football games. He blinked. "Hey Dad, what about the scouts?"

"What scouts?"

I cannot believe I didn't think of this! Noah began to panic, scrambling off the diving board. "Dad, the scouts, the ones that show up to practice, practice for Stuyvesant begins August 10, I'm still going to be in Dillon! They're going to wonder where I am and what's wrong with me, I could lose…" he trailed off, realizing that this wasn't a coincidence. He focused on a tractor in the corner of the small yard, overgrown with weeds and rust. "You did this on purpose."

You did. You did it on purpose. Jason was matter-of-fact, a moment later. "Yes. I did. Football is very important to you Noah. It's your future. You chose to put that in jeopardy with your little stunt. You'll get the scouts after you, don't worry about that. Coach Everly is holding your space, he agrees with me that you need some humility and I think you're going to learn it. Especially now that I know that Tim found out you play fullback. Take him up on an offer to play. You'll see."

I don't know what that means, but I can't see straight right now. "I can't believe you," he whispered. He wanted to hit something. He yelled. "Sending me here to punish me is one thing Dad and I accepted that, but this is football! This is my life!"

"And you have been a spoiled, insolent child the last few years because of football. You play with the big boys down there in Texas Noah. You might seem good but I don't think you quite understand that there is more to life than football and the sooner you see that, the better. I'm not stopping you from playing it, but you're going to learn a few things while you're in Texas," Jason snapped. He raise his voice again. "I love you Noah and I am not doing this because I don't."

He pushed his fingers into his eyes. "I have to go."

"Don't do anything stupid. Keep this conversation in mind."

Noah hung up before he could say something he'd regret, like some of the stuff he said before he came to Texas, and almost threw the phone in the pool he was so frustrated. He turned around, walking back into the house, passing the phone off to Ryan, who was stretched out on the couch watching TV. "I should go," he said, picking up his bag from near the stoop at the front door.

"So soon?" Mindy asked, coming out of the laundry room wiping her hands on a hand towel. She flashed a quick smile. "We enjoyed you over, come by soon." She gave him a quick hug. "You need a ride back to your grandparents?"

"No, I have my bike, but thank you." I need to clear my head. Noah said goodbye to Billy, saying he'd see him at practice. He fist-bumped the twins and Steve, promising he'd talk to them later, maybe he'd see them tomorrow. He left, picking up his bike from the driveway and hopped on, riding away down the street. His grandparents didn't live too far from the Riggins house, but he wasn't sure he wanted to go there just yet.

He rode around town, flying by the hamburger place and some bars and the Alamo Freeze. There was a girl there he'd kind of been flirting with. Steve told him she was one of the "non-football groupies." Maybe that's why he liked her, because she wouldn't give him the time of day. Noah thought of Amanda, back in New York, probably hating him. This whole summer is screwed up. It's completely messed up my life. I've messed up my life, he thought idly. He sighed, rocking back in the seat, pedaling slowly down the street. Spoiled brat, his dad called him. Fine. I'm a spoiled brat. What did I do wrong? You were never home, so I acted out, it was painfully obvious.

Kind of like Frankie, he thought, the little Squeak popping into his head. She thought she was so hard and tough. Maybe she was, but a month of knowing her had shown him that she was gooey and melty. She just acted tough. It was all an act. Noah sighed, continuing down the street, turning onto his and arrived at his grandparents' house a moment later. He pulled the bike into the garage and went into the kitchen, calling out that he was home.

A moment later, his grandfather emerged, holding up one of the grout things. "We're having some trouble in the kitchen, could use your help," he said, flashing a quick smile. It might as well have been an order, Noah thought, rolling up his sleeves metaphorically and went to work. He fell asleep that night exhausted and full, but with a nagging feeling in the back of his mind that that just wasn't enough for his father to bring him back home.


	8. The Best Friend

**_Chapter 8: The Best Friend_**

"Have you spoken with any of your friends since you've been out here?" Joanne asked, restocking a bunch of speaker systems in the store a couple days later. She glanced at Noah, who was attaching alarm wires to the flatscreen televisions an aisle over from her. "Well?" she asked.

He shrugged, fighting with one of the wires going into the alarm cube, stretching it back across the corner of the box. If he did a few more of these, he figured he could cut out early and go to the football field to practice some more. Billy was a good coach and he'd already had Buddy Garrity try to convince him to stay for the year, maybe the combined Riggins-Street quarterback/fullback duo could be back on the field for Dillon again. Noah doubted that very much, he didn't like Dillon that much. "Not really," he answered.

To be honest, he just wasn't sure that even if he contacted his friends and girlfriend that they'd care about him. Especially after…well after what he'd done to end up out here. He'd sent them a couple of emails and left a few messages, but when they called the house, he was usually gone. Plus he was sure his father had gone and done the damage with their parents, prohibiting them from contacting him anyway.

Joanne cleared her throat loudly. "I wish you'd apologize to your father," she said.

Noah tossed his hair from his eyes. "Apologize?"

"Yes. Whatever you did to end up here, he hasn't said, just that you could end it early if you apologize." Joanne chuckled a little, rolling her eyes. "I mean…not that I want to see you go home so soon, but I just don't like knowing that my son and my grandson are not getting along." She smiled up at him. "I think that it would be good if you considered it, is all. It can't have been that bad that you can't apologize."

Maybe it could have been that bad. I said some things…Noah nibbled his lower lip, putting one of the TV boxes up on the shelf. He dropped his hands to his sides, turning his head, peering over the top of the aisle at her. "Grams?"

"Yes?"

"What was Dad like…without the chair?"

Joanne stilled her movements. She didn't meet his eyes, waiting a second before she started stocking again. She lifted her shoulder, not saying anything for another moment. Noah wondered if he stepped over the line. She finally stopped and walked around the aisle to stop in front of him, taking his hands and looking up. Tears filmed over her eyes. "He was a good boy," she whispered, squeezing hard. "He was always polite and caring…he was determined to get a scholarship and get to the NFL and…and he was absolutely in love with Lyla Garrity. I thought she was going to be the mother of my grandchildren."

"Instead she's Frankie's mom," he murmured. He wondered how that happened…going from your boyfriend to his best friend. He blinked. "But…"

"That's something you need to have your father explain, but…then his accident happened and he changed. Not for bad, but…" Joanne laughed, her voice tight. "But he was determined. Determined to leave Dillon, to show that his chair was not his world anymore…and he surprised us by saying that he was going to be a father…you were unexpected but very much loved. Jason loved your mother and when she left for New Jersey, he did all he could to provide for you guys and finally went up there, got a job, and before he even tried to be with her, he made sure he could provide. Even if it meant leaving everything he'd known." Joanne swallowed hard. Her voice faded to a whisper. "He loves you Noah, very much, and it doesn't really matter who that boy was that walked around Dillon, drove a car, and rode a bike, because what matters is that he provided for you your entire life. Things could have been very different for you."

She let go of his hands, walking back to continue restocking. Noah glanced at her, saying nothing. He looked down at his shoes. Wow. He swallowed hard, feeling shaky. "Um…" he whispered, lifting his head again. "Can I please…I really need to talk to Tim Riggins, can I go?"

"I don't see why not."

Noah rushed out of the store, grabbing his bike and began to pedal quickly out of Dillon for the Riggins house. He hoped Frankie wasn't there, he didn't know what was going on with her, but he hoped that she was okay. He liked that kid. He churned up dust and dirt, furiously riding for the house, skidding to a stop and smiling in relief at the site of the truck and no golf cart.

He ran up the stairs, knocking on the door, waiting and hoping that he didn't seem too out of breath. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he turned quickly when the door opened. Tim stood on the other side of the door, slightly surprised. "You okay?" he asked. "Seem out of breath."

"Biked here."

"Oh. Is my kid around?" Tim glanced out, not seeing Squeak's golf cart. He shrugged. "She's been a little shit the last few days anyway. Come on in."

Noah stepped over the threshold, turning around and quickly speaking, seeing what he thought was a curious look on Tim's face. "You're probably wondering why I'm here…"

"Not really."

Huh? But… Tim shrugged. Noah frowned. "But…I mean, you know why I'm here?"

"Yes. Come inside." Tim led him through the house and out onto the back porch, gesturing to a bench. He took a spot on the banister, leaning back slightly. He waited until Noah had sat down across from him before he spoke, his voice clear. "Your dad called me, before you came out here. Said that he was sending you and that I wasn't supposed to find you, that you had to come to me."

Dad always has a plan, Noah thought. He looked at his feet and back up again. "But you know why I'm here? He told you?"

"Said you got into some trouble with the law and with alcohol." Tim chuckled, glancing off into the distance. "I've had problems with both from time to time." He turned back to Noah, smiling again. "You don't have to tell me what you did."

Noah ran his tongue over his teeth, whispering. "Dad said you were his best friend. Like a brother to him."

"I guess I was."

"I don't have that…" Noah trailed off, sighing and looking up, shaking his head. "I have a friend, Mike…we played on the football team and he…we were celebrating the end of school and had a few too many…Mike failed out one of his classes, couldn't play football next year so…we went to the office." He sighed hard. Stupid. It was stupid. He continued. It felt like a release to speak. He wiped at his forehead, feeling a little stifled. "I…I thought it would be funny, to leave messages…how would they know it was us?" he laughed. He swallowed hard, reliving it. "We broke in, trashed the office…we were so drunk…my girlfriend didn't want to do it, but she came with us anyway…we left and…and Mike pulled the fire alarm. I told him to do it, so he did it…"

It was my fault. My idea. All of it was my idea, but I didn't do a damn thing. Not enough to get me in as much trouble as Mike, who didn't seem to get what he'd done was a felony. He continued, whispering. "We got in the car…Amanda's car. She had a BMW…I got to a prep school, she's rich, her dad's rich at least…we drove away, but…she was driving and she'd had a few too many…car flipped when she thought she was going to hit someone, spun the wheel too hard and hit a curb…"

He reached to touch his neck, feeling the seatbelt cutting into his skin, his voice quiet. "She got cited…so did Mike and I…all I got was criminal mischief…even if it was my fault. All of it was my fault and…" Noah sighed, closing his eyes. "Dad was so ashamed…he got me out of community service since it was my first offense. Mike and Amanda aren't…I mean they weren't mad at me when I would have been pissed as hell. Mike's done with his community service and so is Amanda…I got shipped here."

Tim cocked his head, saying nothing as Noah spoke. It was unnerving, he thought, lifting his eyes up. Like Frankie did sometimes. Just stared at you, but said nothing, completely comfortable with silence. He frowned, but kept going. "I was so mad at Dad. Thought I'd do something to get his attention, you know?" Tim shrugged, but stayed silent. He swallowed. "I think that I said some things…" I know I said some bad things. "I got in a fight with him. Said some things that were wrong."

Called him a cripple. A guy with no legs who had to prove to everyone else that he did, so he worked too hard and forgot he had a family. Yelled that I didn't want a dad like that, I wanted one that could walk, that didn't have to prove it to everyone. Who wasn't obsessed with his job…bad things.

Tim sighed, shrugging his shoulders. "That's a nice story."

What? "It's not a story," he snapped. You think I'd make this up? I'm not!

"Your dad said that you've been a little punk the last few years. Ever since you got a football in your hand and had people telling you that you were the second coming."

"No I haven't!" This wasn't how the conversation was supposed to go! Wasn't Tim supposed to tell him things would be alright and maybe his dad wasn't right and everything? What the hell was this? Noah frowned. "I'm not…" Maybe he had been a little arrogant. He was good at what he did was all. He swallowed hard, saying nothing, staring back.

"Your dad had more talent in his little finger for playing football than I did in my entire life of playing the game," Tim said, holding up his hand for emphasis. He grinned. "I'm not going to tell you what you did was good or that your dad deserved you getting mad at him or anything." He shrugged again. "Sounds like you deserve to be here in Dillon, living with your grandparents who are good people, and learning some stuff about…everything."

Some pep talk. Noah chuckled. "Learning to be a good person?"

"You can't learn how to do that," Tim whispered. He sighed, leaning his head back against the railing of the porch. He flashed another smile, whispering. "You're lucky. Your dad cares. Mine didn't." He snorted, shaking his head, cocking his head. "You're lucky," he repeated. He waited a second, sighing hard. "Look, you want to know about your dad?" Noah nodded quickly. "Well, he's my best friend Noah. He loves you, trust me, but you don't want to hear that. No one does, not about their parents." He grinned. "You want to get Daddy's attention? Trust me kid, you've had Street's attention, he just isn't going to give you what you want."

Noah frowned. "He sent me here." I got his attention.

"Not what you wanted, huh?"

"No."

Tim shrugged, hopping off the porch railing. "Trust me kid, don't mess with your dad, he's always going to win. What you did sounds like one of the stupidest things in the world. Drinking and driving? Seriously? How stupid are you?"

"Pretty stupid," he mumbled.

"Sure as hell seems like. Look I'm not going to be your class counselor and I'm not your coach and I sure as hell am not your father, but I know your dad and he didn't send you here to punish you. He sent you here for perspective and it seems like you're getting it, so who am I to keep lecturing you?" Tim walked by him into the house, waiting a second and then stuck his head back out. "Are you coming or not?"

"Geez, didn't know you needed me."

Tim walked him through the house and up the stairs, pausing at a door at the end of a short hallway. He opened it up and sighed, looking at the cramped curving staircase. "Stupid attic, come on." He trudged up to the tiny slanted attic, flicking on a single light-bulb. "I have no idea where anything is up here…my ex-wife is the one who…ha!"

Noah looked around Tim, kneeling with him at a box. He rocked backwards, waiting as Tim pulled at the cardboard flaps. "What is it?"

"I hate this stuff, but…" Tim sighed, his voice quiet. "Frankie's mom, Lyla? She's a friend your dad's too…she keeps these things. Didn't take them with her when she left, so…here." He flicked a picture towards him, of his father and Tim standing in the bed of a truck, holding beers aloft. He rifled through all kinds of photos, some of them cut up into little hearts of his father's face. He rolled his eyes. "Your dad and Lyla dated for years…she kept all this stuff."

"How come they broke up? Sounds like she could have been my mom," Noah chuckled.

Tim said nothing. He kept flicking through things, finally removing a faded yellow newspaper. The pages crinkled as he turned it around. Noah stared down at the image of his dad, a chair abandoned nearby, held up on the shoulders of his team, who had just won State. Wow. He swallowed hard, looking at the picture he held of his dad standing and laughing and the one of him obviously after his accident…still laughing. "He went through hell," Tim whispered. He lifted his eyes, smiling sadly. "Alone. He went through it alone…I wasn't there. Should have been, I know that now…but…Garrity wasn't there after…after the thing…" He sighed hard, shaking his head, frowning. "We betrayed him…did something so stupid…so he did it all on his own. Had everyone telling him it would be fine, but forgot him afterward." He looked up again. "Your dad went through a lot and he came out better than I did and I don't have to have a wheelchair. That thing doesn't even matter, Noah."

It was all he'd known; his dad in the chair. "But," he whispered, prepared to say that that had to be a reason why he worked so much, right? To prove a point? "Every kid thinks their parent works a lot sometimes," Tim said. He laughed. "My kid thinks I do nothing but work and I haven't called a client in four days!" He smiled sadly. "Your dad is around. Take it from someone whose dad wasn't there and who…" He paused, his voice tight. "Isn't there as much for their kid." He looked back in the box again, laughing. "Forgot this was here." He flicked another picture to him.

Noah stared at the image. "Is this my dad?" he laughed.

"Yeah, dressing like a chick and everything."

It was obviously Halloween, with his father dressed in a cheerleader outfit, while Lyla was wearing a football uniform. They'd traded places, clearly. He smiled at it, shaking his head. "Wow," he murmured. He looked up again. "He tell you to teach me a lesson?"

"I don't know, did you learn one?"

"Maybe."

"Then he told me to teach you a lesson. I don't know…look at all this crap in here." Tim began to rifle through the boxes, pulling out shirts and stuff, laughing when he kept taking things out. He tossed a yearbook to Noah, who held it up, flicking through and finding his dad was Homecoming King twice in a year. Lyla was his Queen, of course. He wondered if there was anything with his mom; not that he didn't like seeing these pictures of his dad before his accident.

And he didn't seem all that different. Before and after the accident. Noah looked up. "Is there anything of my mom?"

"I don't know, we didn't really hang out…here's a good one." Tim picked a photo from a book, turning it to Noah. Jason was holding him as a baby, sitting in the Riggins house. He chuckled. "You left Dillon when you were a baby. Your dad did right by you kid. Be happy for that. Could be worse. You could be going back and forth every few months."

Like Frankie, Noah wondered, looking up as Tim walked out, clearly done with this little jaunt down memory lane, the boxes still open and stuff scattered everywhere. He kept the pictures that he'd been given, carefully putting them in his back pocket. He crept down the stairs, turning off the light and going out into the hall and down the main staircase, looking up when the front door opened, Frankie walking in, covered in dirt. "What have you been doing?" he asked.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, her cheeks flushed.

"Looking at stuff with your dad. I think he forgot I was up there."

"He probably did, he has a short attention span." Frankie frowned, crossing her arms over her chest. "So what are you doing here? Talking with my dad?"

"Yeah." It went well. He didn't think that Tim was entirely right about his dad not trying to prove something, but…he felt a little better about what had happened to end him up in Dillon. It wasn't the end of the world and…and when he'd went back to Brooklyn, he planned on apologizing to the principal. Again. Only this time he'd mean it. He scowled. "What's your problem?" Frankie seemed annoyed. She knew that he was going to talk with her dad, he didn't see what the big deal was.

"Nothing," Frankie said. She looked down at her state of dress, dirt all over her. She waved her hand. "I was defense. It didn't go well. Dad! I'm home!"

"What did you do?" Tim wondered, staring at her.

She scowled. "I was defense."

"I told you that you cannot be defense, you're too small!"

"Whatever, I'm going to shower." She trudged up the stairs, a door slamming upstairs.

Tim glanced at him, flashing a quick smile. "She's been in a bad mood since she was two."

"I can tell." Noah followed Tim back into the living room. "So what do you do?"

For the next hour or so, he listened to Tim share stories about his father growing up as well as get some helpful hints on football. He was outside, running a play, when Tim came up and blocked him, knocking him onto the ground for the thousandth time in a row.

"You're trying to take up too much room," Tim said, showing him how to do the block again. He knocked him back down the ground, flinching a little and rubbing at his shoulder. "Damn kid, no wonder you're fullback. I think I broke my shoulder."

"Dad says I'm made of concrete," Noah joked. He looked up when Frankie stepped out. "Hey kid, want to play?"

Frankie shrugged, walking over to them. "Why not?"

A few minutes later, she'd been thrown from one end of the back to the other, rubbing at her butt from where Tim had all but sacked her onto her tailbone. Noah laughed. "You gonna' give up?"

"Never!"

They kept playing and Tim gave up, saying his shoulder could only handle so much and he probably should actually call a client. That left him and Frankie to toss the football around. He ran after her, grabbing her around the waist and laughing when she dropped the ball, squealing for him to put her down. He dropped her to her feet, grinning. "You weigh like five pounds."

"Well that's a compliment, I think."

"Skinny," he teased. He liked her. Like a little sister, he thought, flashing a grin. His mother had said that he'd be an only child, as much as he'd begged and pleaded for a sibling when he was younger. All he'd ever wanted was a brother, but a little sister wouldn't be so bad. Frankie certainly wasn't.

Her cheeks turned pink again. "Got something on your face," he said, reaching to brush off some dirt. Her cheeks flushed deeper red. He frowned. "You okay?"

"Fine," she mumbled, staring up at him.

Noah glanced out at the pond. This place was so cool. He thought of what Tim said up in the attic…about dads not being there. He glanced at Frankie. It must really suck, your parents not being together. Having to only see one for a few months of the year. Then the only dad she'd had otherwise was leaving, her mother divorcing again. Must suck. At least they loved her, that was good. He glanced back at her, seeing her on the stairs, walking down holding a guitar. "You play?" he called.

She nodded, going to sit beneath one of the trees, crossing her legs and settling the guitar in her lap. Frankie looked up, her fingers moving across the strings. "I liked to play Ethan's when I was little. I didn't know until my mom about had a heart attack when she caught me one day. It was signed by some guy named John."

"John?"

A grin flashed on her lips. "Lennon," she murmured, sighing and continued to play her guitar. She nodded towards it, speaking over the pretty melody that she kept repeating. "Ethan got me this for my birthday that year. To discourage me from taking his John Lennon signed guitar from the case and playing it with my sticky six-year old hands."

"You started when you were six?" He came to sit beside her, listening as she played. Not bad, she was good. He leaned back on his hands. "My dad plays guitar. Sings a little too. He's not half bad."

"I don't know where the music or the art came from. Both my parents are not artistically inclined." Frankie glanced sideways, smiling a little. She swallowed hard, her eyes darting around for a second, narrowing slightly. Her voice shook when she spoke. "I'm thinking of putting in for the national anthem, for the Fourth of July festival thing…but…I've never sung in front of anyone before." She turned her head back around, playing some more.

Noah didn't say anything; he listened to her play. It was good. Whatever she was playing, it was the same thing over and over, but she twisted it a bit. He finally stood up when she got up, still playing the sequence of notes, walking back to the house. "What do you call that?" he asked, jogging to keep pace with her to the house.

"I call it Lyla's Song. I always think of my mom," she admitted. Her cheeks tinged pink again, going back inside the house, setting the guitar on the table in the breakfast nook near the French doors. She went up the stairs, saying nothing, while Tim rummaged in the fridge, calling over his shoulder to her that she was going to have to find dinner, because he certainly couldn't.

I wonder if that's one of the most personal things she's said to someone, Noah thought, glancing at the guitar. He stepped back into the living room, noticing a few more things. This house was lived in. Erin, his mother, hated it when things got messed up in the house. Especially when she worked at home and stayed with him when he was younger. Now that she was working, she'd loosened her grip on how dirty and trashed he'd leave the living room when he was finished watching TV or something.

A painting caught his eye, hanging over the desk. His dad had a couple, kind of similar to this one, the style or something, he figured it would be called. Maybe it came from the same collection. "Who did this?" he asked, when Tim walked back into the living room, holding a beer.

"Matt Saracen," Tim said. He nodded to the one beside it. "That's my favorite though."

The one beside it seemed remarkably similar, but…happier. While Matt's was full of dark and swirling colors, kind of like a hurricane, this one was brighter. Like the artist was learning from the master or something. Noah glanced down in the lower right corner. F. Riggins. "Frankie?" he exclaimed, surprised.

"Yeah," Tim said, smiling and walking around him to the TV. He nodded to the couch. "You want more stories about your dad or more lectures on how to not be an idiot son?"

"Stories please," he immediately said. Noah plunked down on the couch, listening to more stories about his dad, looking up when Frankie came and joined them. She just sat quietly, listening, but unlike him, wanting to hear stories about his father just because he couldn't imagine his straight-laced father doing some of the things Tim was saying…he thought sadly that Frankie was just listening because it was the closest she got to hearing about anything to do with her dad.


	9. Mixed Signals

**A/N: **Thanks so much for the reviews! Hope you enjoy :)

* * *

**_Chapter 9: Mixed Signals_**

"My mom is coming to Dillon in a couple days," Frankie said, sitting on the dock, her feet in the water. She tossed her hair over her shoulder, leaning back, stretching out long and slow back onto the dock, her arms above her head, staring up at the sky. It was hot out today. Like a million degrees hot, she'd even put on her bathing suit, even though she didn't really like swimming in the pond out back. She had a thing with not being able to see her feet in the water.

Noah surfaced, surprising her as he hoisted himself up from the water onto the dock. Oh, I thought you were listening to me, guess not. She rolled her eyes, wiggling her toes and lifting them up to peer at the purple nailpolish. She'd redo them. Maybe red, white, and blue for Fourth of July. Frankie glanced at Noah. "Why do you swim in that water? Could be disease infested."

"It's water, it's a million degrees out, and your cousins are at the pool with their girlfriends, I didn't feel like being a fourth wheel."

"You could get a girlfriend." Her cheeks tinged slightly. That was stupid to say. Frankie flushed, sitting up on her elbows, looking at him. She pursed her lips, her eyes narrowing. "Do you have a girlfriend?" she finally asked.

"I don't know. Maybe."

You probably don't want to talk about this with me, the baby, she thought. She shrugged. "So you don't know if you have a girlfriend?"

"She hasn't bothered talking to me…I did some stupid things. I wouldn't be surprised if she's hooked up with my best friend, but…" Noah shrugged. He really didn't seem to care. He pushed his fingers through his thick wet hair. "I think it's better if she decides to dump me anyway." He peered at her, chuckling. "You have a boyfriend."

No. Frankie shook her head. "No, no one likes me."

"That's not very nice."

"It's true." I don't feel like talking about this anymore. She pushed her aviators back from her nose, looking at the water again. It was just so…dark. She shivered. There could be snakes in there. "I don't like it when I can't see my feet," she said, flicking them back in the water, twisting so that she had turned completely around, her back to the pond, draping her arms over her knees.

Noah chuckled, standing up and stretching. Her mouth dropped a little as she watched the water trickle over his abs. He grabbed his t-shirt, tugging it on. Damn, she thought, watching as they disappeared beneath the shirt. "Why?"

"My dad freaked me out when I was little. He went under the water and Aunt Mindy finally convinced me to go in so I did and he came up and grabbed me, pulled me under. I thought I'd died for a moment," Frankie said. Ugh, she could barely think of it without shivering in memory. Terrifying. Stupid Dad. She tucked her hair behind her ear, glancing up at him. "So you have what? Another month left on your sentence?"

"Two months."

"Have you really been here four weeks?"

"Yup. Will officially be five on the Fourth of July."

"Wow. Means I've been here for almost half my sentence too." Not so much a sentence as a welcome reprieve. As boring as Dillon could be, she got to hang out with her father, which was something she waited nine months for, every single year. Now and then, if she was lucky, she'd get a Christmas or a birthday with him. Those were rare and usually were if Mom had to work. She picked up a bit of broken wood from the side of the dock, tossing it into the water, watching as it floated away.

Noah remained quiet, watching her. She finally looked up, a few minutes later, when it became too unnerving for her to handle. "Sorry," he mumbled, looking down at his feet, which he'd stretched out in front of him. He tossed his hair from his eyes. It was thick and dark, with a reddish sheen, kind of like hers. "So did you put in for the Fourth of July singing thing?"

"No." She grew defensive. "Why would I?"

"I don't know, I think you'd be good at it. You should show people your talents."

"It's a hobby." Like the artwork. That was a psychological release, if you listened to Aunt Tyra when she shrinked her. Told her that it was good for her emotions. She liked to paint. She liked making swirls. That's what Matt called them. Uncle Matt, she thought, thinking of the guy in Chicago that she'd met only a few times in her life. The last time she was allowed to sit with him for a few days in his studio and learn some painting techniques. She sighed. No way could she convince either parent to let her take it up permanently or go to school or something for it. "My parents want me to get a good education," she said. She rolled her eyes. "Dad is a major hypocrite. Wants me to go to a good college. He couldn't last a week."

"Doesn't he have an Associate's or something?"

"Yeah, but it's in something stupid like…." She couldn't remember, so she giggled, sputtering out. "Basket Weaving."

"Playground Management," Noah joked. He rolled his eyes. "That's what Mom always says my dad's degree is in."

What's that like? Your parents joking? Hell, what's it like when your parents talk? Frankie was just glad she got him off the topic of her singing at the Fourth of July thing, although she had toyed with the idea. She sat up again, leaning over her knees, lifting her eyes to his. "You know," she mumbled, swallowing the lump in her throat. She sighed. "You're like the only person that I've told some stuff to the last month." She murmured, her eyes narrowing. "And I'm not sure why."

He smiled quickly, his brow wrinkling slightly in a frown. "Guess you feel comfortable around me."

"What did you do to end up here?" she asked. Changed the subject from her. Always a good thing to do. Frankie leaned back again, listening as he hesitated, but then slowly told her why he was in Dillon. She stood up when he finished, her hands on her hips. There was something more too, something else he wasn't telling her. She figured she'd get it out of him later, although she kind of suspected.

Better just ask. She cocked her head, looking up when he stood. He towered over her. Mom always said she still had to hit her growth spurt. Mom wasn't that tall. Ethan joked that she was the size of a doll. "You know," she said, swallowing the lump in her throat again. Why did that happen when he looked at her sometimes? "I think you're not saying everything."

"Everything about what?"

"About why you're here. Maybe it wasn't something you did, but like…something that lasted awhile." Frankie felt her eyes crinkle slightly. "I…I can see it." This might be getting in on something personal, but…but hell she'd shared way too much with him and he'd barely let her see anything about his life that he didn't want her to know. She swallowed hard. "So my dad…he drinks…sometimes. Mom told me once to just be careful when I started drinking, she wasn't sure if it was genetic."

Noah scowled. "So?" he snapped.

"So I'm just saying that there's a look that people who drink a little more than the average person get sometimes. Especially when they see it." Frankie lifted her eyes from the dock, meeting his, her voice soft. "You may not be an alcoholic, but I think you may have had a little too much for a bit. Maybe you're on the path and…and your dad kicked you out before you started following it."

Maybe I hit a nerve, Frankie thought instantly when Noah glared at her, his blue eyes flashing. He stepped back from her, turning and then almost growled. "You have no idea what you are talking about…" He snapped. "Squeak."

Ouch. She drew back the anger at hearing that hated name. "I'm just saying!"

"Sometimes you should keep your thoughts to yourself!" he yelled.

"You know, you can make all these comments to me and know about me, but I can't know about you?"

"No!"

"Why not? We're friends!" I like you, she wanted to scream, her heart pounding, and her cheeks flushing hot again. She stared at him, just looking at her, unsure what to do or say. He looked like he wanted to push her into the water. Frankie waited a second. Oh God, she thought, her mind racing. Until she finally did it, no thinking, nothing.

Frankie grabbed Noah by the face and kissed him.

As soon as her lips touched his, she felt her toes curl up and her skin feel like it was on fire and as soon as her lips touched his, he was throwing her backwards, almost knocking her onto the dock, staring at her in horror. What…oh my God!

Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God! Frankie gaped. What did you just do!? "I…" she stuttered.

Noah couldn't' say anything. He just looked at her, appalled at what she'd done. Or maybe what he'd done, Frankie didn't know, just that she was grabbing her things, taking off for the house, mortified. She ran as fast as she could, her bare feet cutting into dirt and rock and the harsh scrub grass, tears streaming down her face. I need to erase this entire moment from my life, she thought, bursting into the house, almost falling back from the shock of the cold air.

"Hey kiddo," Tim greeted her, turning away from the computer at his desk. He smiled, but it faded immediately. "What happened?"

"Nothing!" she yelled, rocketing up the stairs to her room, slamming the door. She locked it and fell back, her hand still on the knob, still shocked. Mortified. Angry. Sad. Confused. So many things tore at her. I can't breathe, she thought, wheezing.

The front door slammed shut and she looked up when her door began to rattle. "Francesca!" Tim yelled, pounding on it. "Open this door now! What happened? Did Noah do something to you? He ran out of here like his ass was on fire, open this door now!" He waited a second. "I'm going to burn it down."

"No you won't!"

Okay, so he wouldn't burn it down, she knew he was thinking. There was a slumping sound from behind the door. He was sitting on the floor too, probably mirroring her exact position. "Tell me what's wrong?" he called, his voice quiet.

She hiccupped, wiping at her tears, smearing sweat, dirt, and sunscreen. "I…" she trailed off. I want my mother. The only person who could understand was her mother. She wiped at her nose. "Noah pushed me in the water," she lied. She hiccupped. "I…I got scared and embarrassed. I yelled at him. So he ran off."

"You had a panic attack or something?"

Or something. Maybe I'm having a panic attack. She couldn't breathe, hiccupping and hesitating each breath. Very soft, she heard her father's command. "Just breathe, in and out, slow." She felt his fingers touch hers from beneath the crack in the door. Hers touched his and she listened to him, doing as he said. It began to feel easier, her throat opening a little bit more.

After a moment, she got up and opened the door, walking into his arms, sobbing. He held her tight, smoothing at her frizzy hair. Tim brushed his lips over her forehead. "I don't know what happened," he murmured, squeezing her tight. "But I love you. I'm here, okay? I promise. I'm always here, even when I'm not, okay?"

Okay, she thought, crying into his chest. I love you too.


	10. Estranged

**_Chapter 10: Estranged_**

What happened to Frankie, Tim wondered, sitting at the kitchen counter, going over invoices for his business. He looked at his phone, which had been silent all day. After the incident a couple days ago, where Noah had run off and she'd been miserable, she'd told him that she was fine and she certainly seemed like it, but…hell he didn't know. Since then she'd barely spoken to him and she'd been hanging out with Buddy. That should have told him something was off, she never voluntarily hung out with Buddy.

Tyra told him not to worry about it, she was a teenager, and she was going through a lot of stuff mentally and emotionally, trying to find her place in the world. Right now Lyla's impending divorce, which no one had officially confirmed, the fact that her father was always 1000 miles away from her, and that her best friend consisted of a computer and various musical instruments as well as her cousins, she had a lot on her plate, even if it didn't seem like it. She'd probably had the mini-breakdown and panic attack after Noah pushed her in the water and been so embarrassed that he probably didn't want to go near her for fear of making her relive it.

Maybe, but…hell, Tim didn't want to compare his life to Frankie's. Everything was different. She had been acting out lately, which Tyra said was just something common. To just watch it. If she stays away from drinking and sleeping around, I'll be a happy dad, he thought. Tyra warned him to start watching for signs of that though, especially since he gave her such free reign.

I didn't intend on it, especially not after that s'mores incident, Tim thought, glancing at the replaced microwave. He flinched, shaking his head slightly at the memory of his kitchen practically on fire. He leaned down to make a note on an invoice for a few hundred pallets of lumber he'd ordered when the doorbell rang.

No one ever rang the doorbell. Tim stood, calling out. "Tyra? You here?" No response. He hoped she was hanging with Mindy; she needed her sister more than him, especially before she left. It was Fourth of July weekend, her last weekend…oh wait, he thought, his heart pounding as he touched the doorknob.

A smile pulled slowly on his lips as he pulled the door back, his attention zeroed in on the yellow cab driving away from his house. He turned his attention to the woman standing on the porch, her hand on a raised handle of a roller bag and a large tote sitting at her feet. "Hello Tim," she greeted him, her voice soft.

"Hey Garr…" He trailed off, his smile softening. Might be too personal, too quick. "Lyla," he whispered. God, he thought, his heart swelling. Oh it was so good to see her. He had no idea. He felt a little awkward standing there, stepping towards her, holding his arms out slightly. Figured it probably wouldn't be great to just tackle his ex-wife, whom he hadn't seen in years.

She took a quick step, but hesitated. Guess she had the same thought. Lyla grinned, reaching her arms up to envelope him just as he did her. "I missed you," she murmured, rubbing at his back, sighing. She rested her head against his. "Gosh, it's been so long. It's so good to see you."

"A few years," he whispered. He let go of her, grinning. It was really good to see her. Especially since it had been a few years. They'd spoken on the phone of course, but this was different. He took a good look at her; she'd darkened her hair slightly and it was pulled back in a ponytail. She wore a loose-fitting white blouse with blue jeans and cowboy boots. There was no ring on her left hand. He stepped back to allow her into the house. "You planning on going to your dad's?"

He helped her with her bag into the house. "Not quite yet, I thought I'd see Frankie, surprise her. I got an early flight, I couldn't wait anymore," Lyla said. She looked around. "Where is our daughter?"

"I don't know, she ran off this morning, she's been…hiding the last couple days. I don't know what happened." He sighed at her dark look. Great. He should have expected this. He gave up, shrugging, his voice soft. "What?"

"Nothing, I just think that if something happened, you should have asked her."

"And she'd tell me the truth?" Good luck with that, this kid lies on a daily basis, especially about her feelings.

"She's thirteen, she's not going to tell you the truth, but you could still at least try to figure out if it was something truly bad," Lyla said. She rolled her eyes, mumbling and walking away from him into the house, dragging her bags with her. "Forget it, you wouldn't understand."

Of course I wouldn't understand, I'm just the father who never sees her, that's right, Tim thought, reciting what he was sure she was thinking in her head. Wait until you hear about what happened a couple days ago. I was the perfect dad in that situation. I gave her space, but I was still there for her. Sure, she hadn't said but two words to him since the incident, but Tim thought he handled it as well as he could, given what little he knew about teenage girls and a daughter he barely saw most of her life. He grabbed the handle to the fridge. "Want anything?"

"Want anything? Gosh, you're polite."

"Well you know, you did get an early flight and come on over without letting me know." I'm not in the mood for this passive aggressive shit Garrity.

"I wanted to see my daughter and she's not here." Lyla scowled. "Do you even know where she is?"

"No, I don't, but hell Lyla, it's not like Dillon is Washington, D.C.! She's fine!"

Lyla jabbed her finger into his chest, shouting. "It's not D.C., Tim! I live in Vienna, it's like richy-rich town!"

Oh great, here we go. "Don't forget to mention that you're the first female head trainer for an NFL team."

"Because I am!"

Tim stared her down, waiting for her to say something else. She was breathing deeply, glaring at him. What was this? Five minutes after seeing each other? New record, must be because they hadn't seen each other in awhile. He saw it in her eyes, just a flash. Okay, here we go.

He narrowed his eyes just as she reached up, grabbing his face and yanking him against her. He wrapped her up into his arms, his mouth open against hers, feeling her nails digging into his shoulders. He felt possessed, completely unaware of what he was doing, lifting her off the ground and sweeping her up. As soon as the kiss began, it ended, with Lyla falling away from him, touching her fingertips to her lips. She stared up, her breathing husky. God, he thought. Why, why, why did they have to be like this? He closed his eyes, sighing hard. "You getting a divorce?" he mumbled, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Yes," she murmured. She nodded, looking down at the floor. "We've been growing apart for some time…he doesn't like the family thing anymore and I don't like the ex-girlfriends sending photos of themselves to him. Plus he…" Lyla looked up again, shrugging and murmuring. "He still doesn't believe me when I say that you and I divorced because we didn't love each other."

"But I thought that's why we divorced," he said. He knew it wasn't.

Lyla chuckled, tossing her bangs from her eyes. Her voice was cool, her eyes narrowed. "Yeah Tim, let's go with that. That's why we divorced." She swished her finger between the both of them, whispering. "It's why we're only here for five minutes before we're jumping each other."

That's just hormones, he thought. He knew why they divorced. It was Frankie. It was better for her, to go with Lyla to D.C. But if Lyla couldn't say it, then hell, maybe the reason they divorced wasn't what he thought. He looked up, glancing over his shoulder when the front door opened. "Frankie!" he called. "Come in the kitchen, I got something for you!"

"What? Did you get more Yoo-Hoo…" Frankie's voice trailed off, her eyes widening. "Mom!" she yelped, dropping her bag and guitar case, running at Lyla and throwing her arms around her, tackling her back into the counter. A stream of giggles came from her. "You're here!"

Tim grinned, stepping back as Frankie began to talk excitedly with Lyla about her music, how she hadn't been able to play drums because he'd hidden her sticks and that she had all this music to play for her, she was really thinking about maybe recording a couple of the songs, wouldn't it be cool if she sent them in somewhere? He frowned a little; he never saw this side of her. It was always a sarcastic…tomboyish troublemaker side.

Now she was acting like a downright girl, he thought, cocking his head. He stepped a little closer to the melee. "Why don't you get your mom's stuff? We'll take her to see your Grandpa."

"Yeah, yeah," Frankie said, hurrying to Lyla's suitcase.

"And maybe we can introduce her to Noah."

Frankie immediately lifted her head. "No," she blurted out, grabbing the suitcase and dragging it away.

A ha, he thought, glancing at Lyla, who already keyed in on it. Once Frankie was out the front door, Lyla turned around, her hand on her hip and the other on the counter. "Noah Street?" she demanded. She arched an eyebrow. "He's seventeen, our daughter is thirteen!"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"What do you mean what do it means? How often have they been hanging out?"

"Frankie hasn't told you?" He felt a little bit of glee at the notion that he knew something Lyla didn't about their daughter. So Frankie didn't tell her everything. He ignored her scowl; of course she'd be annoyed at that. "I don't know, they've been hanging out a lot. They're friends, so what?"

"You are an idiot."

"That only took you ten minutes," Tim snapped, dramatically checking an imaginary watch on his wrist. She waved her hand at him, wiping the slight off. "What Lyla?" I don't get it.

Lyla threw her arms in the air. "She's crushing on him, Tim! I knew it when she started talking about him, damnit. Something must have happened…she's hurt." Lyla rubbed at her forehead, her eyes closed. She shook her head again, letting her hand fall. "Come on, we'll deal with it later. I can't think right now about this, I still need more information. Let's go find my father."

Tim reached for her hand, turning it around. He touched his fingertips lightly to her hip, feeling her shiver. He tried to ignore it. "We okay?" he murmured. Their daughter was one thing. Their little slip-up was another. They just didn't do that anymore.

She stared up at him, closing her eyes again. When she opened them, he saw tears gathering in the corners. "Tim, I'm still married," she whispered. She swallowed hard. "Ethan and I are getting a divorce and I'd like to be the one to officially tell our daughter. She loves him very much and this is going to upset her. She's obviously got something with Noah Street that's hurting her and…and I think the last thing either of us should think about, seeing as we've only been looking at each other for the last fifteen minutes for the first time in three years…the last thing we should do is talk about whatever we are."

Geez, all I did was ask if we were okay. Tim rolled his eyes. "Whatever you say."

"Is Tyra here?" Lyla asked, changing the subject abruptly and glancing at the close guest bedroom door. She looked up. "Frankie told me that she was staying with you."

"Not like that, she…" Tim sighed, whispering. He didn't want to get into Tyra's business. "She's had some stuff going on in her life, but she's leaving in a couple of days."

"Okay." Lyla turned away from him, walking to the front door. He paused behind her, waiting as she glanced over her shoulder. "We can talk later, Tim." She opened the door, walking out and leaving him standing in the doorway, watching as Frankie jumped up and down around Lyla, unable to stop talking.

As happy as he was that his daughter was pleased to see her mother right now and as much as he knew she needed her mother right now…Tim felt his heart ache a little that the summer was almost over and he wouldn't see her again. That had to change. He frowned slightly, walking out and closing the door. He reached for his phone, sending a text to Billy; he wanted to know about Noah Street.


	11. Defending Your Honor

**A/N:**Thanks for the reviews! Enjoy :)

* * *

_**Chapter 11: Defending Your Honor**_

"You know where my cousin has been these days? I hate to say this out loud, but I kind of miss that little Squeak," Steve said, hopping down another step on the bleachers, holding onto a brown bag of Jack Daniels. He looked up at Noah, who was walking along one of the bleachers like it was a balance beam. "You know we need to get you a pair of boots, you look like a tool wearing that shirt with sneakers."

"Who says sneakers?"

"Oh that's right, you say tennis shoes. But you're not playing tennis. Would I say that my shoes are football shoes even if I didn't wear them to play football?" Steve wondered out loud. He gestured to Noah with the bottle, his eyes narrowed. "These are the questions we must ask ourselves if we ever seek full self-actualization. We must complete introspection."

What the hell are you talking about? Noah sipped at his beer can, his eyes closing briefly as he savored his first taste of alcohol since he'd been shipped here. He jumped down another bleacher, looking out at the football field, the lights on, but the sky pitch black around the stadium. It was eerie. He'd never hung out at a football field at night, but it seemed to be a thing for them to break into the stadium and just wander around. Noah thought that Steve might actually get some sort of introspection from being there. "So who is recruiting you?" he asked, changing the subject. Especially from Squeak.

"Um, Ohio State, Oklahoma, Texas, A&M, Notre Dame, UCLA…" Steve proceeded to rattle off several different schools. He shrugged. "Everyone who can throw a ball and run a lap without falling down gets recruitment letters out here. Dad's churned out a couple of good prospects and this is the town where Smash Williams and Vince Howard came from."

"No shit?" Yeah, that's right, they'd mentioned that at dinner a couple weeks ago. Coach Eric Taylor, the Kingmaker.

"Yup. Dad coached Vince a little when he was in East Dillon, that old school kind of in the ghetto area? Coached him when it went away and it was just Dillon again." Steve frowned slightly, his arms crossed over his chest. "So how much do you even know about this place?"

Not much at all, not much at all, Noah had to say. He'd been here almost five weeks. Fourth of July was in two days. There was going to be a big town thing, fireworks, booths, and a mini-reunion of the football teams. His dad had told him last night that he would not be flying in for that, but to say hello and make sure to speak with a couple of the guys he knew were coming in, specifically someone named Matt Saracen and if he even got wind that guy Coach Eric Taylor was nearby, he had to drop everything and go find him.

Whatever, Noah thought, sipping his beer. He swallowed the cheap liquid, glancing at Steve again. He was staring off at one of the lights. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"Nothing," Steve said. He jumped down another bleacher. "Just wondering is all. I'm starting my last year. I have to get a scholarship. I gotta' get out of here."

What? "I thought you liked Dillon."

"I do, but it's not my end all, be all. I'm not my uncle."

"What do you mean by that?" he asked, reaching the bottom of the stadium, looking back up and wondering if it was worth it to try and walk the bleachers back up there, one foot in front of another, snaking along. He shrugged, starting again.

Steve dropped the Jack Daniels bottle on the ground. "I don't know. Dad always said that Uncle Tim only wanted to live here and never wanted to leave. He got into college and everything, but came back. Then I guess Frankie's mom got some job in Virginia and he could have gone, but he stayed here and she went back there and took Frankie."

That sucked for Frankie, knowing her parents just couldn't agree on where to live. Noah sipped his beer. "My dad wanted out too. He got out, even in a wheelchair."

"Your dad sounds cool."

"Not really." He jumped off another bleacher. He was feeling a little buzzed, plunking down on the seat, leaning forward over his knees. This was killing him, about Frankie. He cleared his throat. "Um, so have you…do you know if…" He sighed. "Do you know if Frankie likes anyone? Like boyfriend stuff?"

Steve swallowed hard, choking on the whiskey. "What? Why would you ask that?"

"No reason, um…" Noah thought hard of a good, convincing lie. He looked up, seeing Steve's narrow-eyed look on him. Oh shit, he thought he was talking him! "Um, I just thought I saw her with some guy the other day. Like a boyfriend, I was curious. She's thirteen." Liar, liar.

"I have no idea, she's thirteen." Steve put heavy emphasis, even while drunk, on the word 'thirteen.' Warning him.

Yeah, I need to stop talking. Noah rubbed at his hair. I'm so drunk right now. Not buzzed, drunk, he thought, closing his eyes for a moment. He opened and looked up, seeing Steve was shaking his blond hair out, tying it back behind his head. "Um, so tomorrow is that Fourth of July thing."

"Yeah." Steve looked up, glancing down the football field and waving. "Hey Frankie!"

Oh shit. Noah's eyes widened, standing and looking down the field, seeing Frankie walking towards them. He waved and she froze in place, staring. He sighed. Don't mess this up Frankie, you'll make it worse. I don't hate you or anything. He was just insanely confused with how to deal with her, if she had a crush on him and didn't recognize how it was never going to go anywhere. He glanced at Steve, who was frowning deeper. He was the smart one of the family. Him and Frankie at least. "So," he said, looking at Frankie, who came to a stop beside them. "Is your mom in town now?"

"Yes," she answered. Curt.

Steve wrapped his arm around her shoulders, tugging her against him. "How is it Squeak? The rumors true?"

"Don't call her that."

Both of them looked at him, Frankie's eyes widening and Steve's narrowing. "What?" Steve asked.

"Don't call her that," Noah repeated. He swallowed hard, looking at Frankie, who was slightly shaking her head. He didn't much care anymore. He sighed hard. "She doesn't like it when you call her Squeak. Sorry Frankie, but it's true. You hate it, stop putting up with it."

Frankie scowled at him, her voice quiet. "It's none of your business."

"It is my business when you tell me all about it."

Steve rubbed at his forehead. "Fine! Whatever! Geez, I won't call her it, fine." He looked at Frankie. "Seriously? You don't like it?"

"No," she said. She lifted her chin, whispering. "I don't like it."

See, it wasn't hard, Noah thought, smiling at her. He dropped the smile when Steve frowned at him again. He cleared his throat, finishing his beer. "Um, so Frankie, yeah, the rumors true about your mom?" Steve moved on to that, looking at Frankie again.

Frankie nodded, looking a little sad, her hazel eyes shadowed with blue rings around them. "Yeah, she's getting a divorce from Ethan." She sighed, rolling her eyes and mumbling. "Washington Post says it's the reason for his slump this year. Whatever…he sent me a text…said he was sorry, but we can still be friends." She shrugged, mumbling so low that Noah could barely hear her. "I don't care."

Yes you do, it's why you're so quiet. You're hurt. Noah glanced at Steve, who had his arm around Frankie's shoulders, hugging her to him. He sighed, smiling again at Frankie. "You need anything?"

"No," she blurted out, immediately letting go of her cousin. She stepped away from them both. "I came here for some quiet. Mom's back at the house with Dad…Aunt Tyra is with Aunt Mindy…I needed space." She scowled at him. "And I don't want to be near you. I'm leaving." She turned pink, turning on the heel of her Chucks, running back to her golf cart.

Noah watched her leave, hoping she'd be okay. He turned back around, barely registering that Steve had pulled his arm back, only seeing a fist heading straight towards his nose. He fell backwards, crashing down to the bleachers, the steel cool beneath his cheek. He felt his nose crunch as it impacted with Steve's fist and a warm copper hitting the back of his throat. "What the hell!?" he yelled, covering it with his hand, turning to stare at Steve, who was just glaring at him, rubbing at his fist. He jumped to his feet, using one hand to push at his shoulders. "Jesus!"

I know what that was for, but you don't have it right. He dropped his hand, his nose bloody. "That's for my cousin!" Steve yelled, pushing at him again. "What the hell Noah? You're seventeen! She's thirteen! You're going after her? What did you do her? I saw how she looked at you, like she wanted to puke!"

Hey, I don't think it was puke. I want to puke right now. He felt dizzy. "I didn't do anything!" But…Frankie would be embarrassed. Mortified. She already thought people didn't like her and teased her. This would just…Noah shut up. He stepped away from Steve, who just glared at him, angry and disgusted. Forget it. "Nevermind," he mumbled, walking away.

"Stay away from her!" Steve yelled. "I told you that we'd end you if you hurt her!"

Then end me; it doesn't matter, Noah thought, trudging to his bike. He ignored his bleeding nose, pedaling back to the house, sneaking in through the back and going upstairs, cleaning up in the bathroom and slipping into his bedroom, closing and locking the door behind him. He had a headache. He had a stomachache. And he probably had a broken nose.

He rested his head back on his pillow, closing his eyes. After a moment, he swallowed hard, getting off the bed and going into the hall, picking up the landline on the table outside the bedroom. He waited a second as the phone rang, hearing his mom answer. This was what was best, he thought. "Hey Mom," he said. He went back into his room. "Can I talk to Dad?"

"Are you alright Noah? You sound stuffy."

My nose is broken. I'm drunk. Thanks for asking. He ignored the pain. "Can I talk to Dad?" he repeated.

Jason answered a second later. "What's going on?" he asked. "It's late here, everything okay?"

No, it's not okay. "I'm sorry," he whispered. He closed his eyes, slumping down beneath the window, his arm draped over his knee. There, I said. He felt tears prick the corners of his eyes. He'd ruined things here. He didn't know how he'd done it, but he did. The easiest way to get out of this was just apologize. He shoved his hand through his hair again. "Dad I'm sorry, for everything I said. For what I did…for not taking responsibility, for drinking all the time, for being an idiot…" He just kept apologizing, until he didn't even know what he was apologizing for.

The entire time, his dad was silent. Until finally Jason interrupted, whispering. "What happened?"

Nothing. Noah tried to sniff, but it just hurt his nose. He touched it lightly, flinching. It was already starting to swell. No way he was going to hide this from his grandparents. Then they'd be mad. "I screwed up," he whispered. He sighed. "I just want to come home. I'm sorry, please Dad. Please, just let me come home now."

It'll just make it easier. With his new friends, with the team, and with Frankie. Hell, once Tim got wind of what had happened, he was sure that he'd be sent packing anyway. In a box. Steve was going to tell him. Noah wasn't going to correct them. It would be terrible for Frankie, so he'd just…well he'd just deal with it.

Jason sighed, whispering. "Okay. I'll talk with your grandparents tomorrow."

"Thank you." Noah hung up a few minutes later, leaning forward; his head in his hands, wishing this would end now. It really was the summer from hell.


	12. Eavesdropping

_**Chapter 12: Eavesdropping**_

I did something terrible, Frankie thought, riding in her golf cart home. She couldn't stop thinking of so many things. It was like her mind was going to split into five or six different pieces. One part of her couldn't stop thinking about Ethan and her mom, how come it ended, because they were happy and what would happen now? Would they move out of the house? Would she have to give up anything? She'd heard that sometimes in divorces that anything the other person bought had to be returned. How much of her instruments and clothes and stuff was actually bought by Ethan?

Another part wondered about her parents. They'd gone to dinner and it had been really nice. They seemed happy. Why couldn't they just be together? It split her to want her mother with her dad or with Ethan. Frankie couldn't think, but she still wanted an answer, after Tyra had hinted at how they hadn't divorced for the normal reasons.

Noah, that was another part. How stupid was she to do that? To kiss him like that? She still wanted to die, each time she thought about what she'd done. Wanting to die made her think of her Aunt Tyra. She still felt awful for how she'd treated her and she wanted to fix it. To really apologize, but Tyra was leaving soon and Frankie didn't know what to say. She'd researched the girl who had killed herself and found that Tyra had been put on leave. She'd been laid off, because they had to blame someone, it seemed. She just felt like crap. Felt bad.

What am I supposed to do, Frankie wondered, feeling the golf cart sail over a pothole. She groaned when it crashed down. That wasn't going to be good for the suspension. She drove through the darkness, turning onto her driveway a second later, stopping it silently in the back, climbing out and reaching for her tree, slowly making her way up to the roof, even after she'd promised she'd quit. She'd picked the lock on the screen, popping it out. She got up to the window, slipping into her room and taking off her shoes, sneaking quietly into the hall and came to sit on the stairs, listening.

In the living room, she could hear her parents laughing about something. She wondered what they talked about when they were alone. Especially since they hadn't seen each other in three years. Frankie drew her knees up, listening intently, focusing on a corner of the banister, knowing that they wouldn't see her, since she was sitting on the landing, listening behind the wall. But she could see them, from their reflections in a mirror on the wall, beside the door.

"So what's going on with Tyra? How is she doing?" Lyla asked, sitting on the end of the couch, leaning back against it, her leg beneath her and propping her head on her hand.

Tim shrugged, sipping his bottle of beer. "She's okay. She's been here…two months maybe? Almost three. I think she's moving out soon, she said Fourth of July, for Chicago." He sighed, shaking his head, whispering. "I don't want to talk about it, but…she was bad. Really bad for awhile. She's good now."

"That's good. I didn't know what had happened until my dad mentioned it. Angela knew and told him. I felt sick to my stomach. How awful, just…so sad…I mean…it just made me think about Frankie," Lyla whispered, trailing off. She closed her eyes. "She worries me sometimes."

I worry you, Frankie wondered, frowning, listening even closer. Why do I worry you Mom? She had her answer a moment later, when her father asked that very question. Lyla chuckled, shaking her head and slumping back against the couch. "I don't know, I just…she doesn't have many friends Tim. I know you don't see it, because you don't have her during the school year, but every time I think she's got a friend, she pushes them away. Makes up some excuse and then goes and hides in her room with her art and her music. I even thought about asking a psychologist if…I don't know."

"She's not crazy," Tim said, defensive.

"I know she's not, she's my daughter! I just…I worry Tim. That's all. I worry. I don't think she'd do anything like kill herself, I'm not suggesting that she's going to go crazy, but sometimes I just wonder if I'm doing all I can for her." Lyla paused, whispering, looking up at him. "All that we can do for her. If maybe we're ignoring her sometimes because we just don't want to admit what the problem is."

"There's no problem."

Yeah, there's no problem, Frankie thought, agreeing with her dad. And annoyed that her mother was thinking those things about her. She leaned against the wall, closing her eyes, listening as they talked a little bit more about her. About how she was really into music and her mother thought about sending her to this Paris art program, maybe next summer, but he had to agree. Her heart jumped when her father said absolutely, he wanted her to be happy and she was happy with her art. She picked at her fingernail, paint dry beneath them.

After a few minutes of talking, Frankie perked her head up when Lyla whispered: "There is a problem Tim, stop ignoring it."

"Ignore what?" he laughed, but it was a little nervous. He got up from the couch, walking over to the window. He ran his fingers through his hair, sending the thick, short strands every which way. He sighed, shoving his hands into his pockets, frowning. "You want to get out of here? Frankie's off with the cousins. Maybe we could get a drink."

"No drink Tim. Admit it. Frankie wants to know about us. Our history. She's curious, she's a curious kid, and she's practically a genius."

I am a genius, don't sell me short, Frankie thought. Tim sighed hard; it was actually more of a groan. "Garrity…" Why did he call her by her last name? Frankie had heard him refer to her that way several times, but he never had an answer to why. Just that he did. She smiled; it was like a pet name, she guessed. She liked knowing that he had a pet name for her mom.

Lyla got up from the couch, crossing her arms and looking at him. "Tim my second marriage has failed. I've done all I can for the last two years…Ethan's done. He can't handle this anymore and neither can I. We've done everything. Counseling and vacations and talking and all kinds of things I don't even want to discuss with you, but I tried. I actually tried this time." She laughed, her brow wrinkling. Her voice dropped so low that Frankie had to strain to hear. "Frankie will want to know, Tim. She asks about it enough. With Noah Street in town, I'm surprised she hasn't figured out everything about our history that we've never told her."

"What? That thing in high school? Doesn't matter now," Tim mumbled. He looked up, leaning against the fireplace, his arms crossed over his chest, acting defensive. He dropped his voice again, husky. "You want to be the one to tell her that you didn't want to stay again? That I asked you and you said no? Again?"

Frankie took another step down, listening hard. Her heart was pounding so loud in her ears that she didn't think she'd be able to hear anything else. This was it. The answer to everything she'd been wondering the last few years. Why they divorced and why they wouldn't talk about it with each other. "Come on," she mumbled to herself, almost clutching the wall she wanted to hear so badly.

Lyla sobbed, reaching to cover her face with her hands, pushing them through her hair and sending it back over her shoulders. "Tim please," she begged, but he came to stand in front of her, taking her face into his hands. She clutched his wrists, looking up, whispering. "I had to leave, this place was smothering me…I didn't…didn't want Frankie…"

"To end up like you?"

She nodded quickly, wiping at her eyes. Tim dropped his forehead to hers and she reached up to push her fingers through his hair. "I can't do this," she murmured. She shook her head again, letting go of him completely and stepping away. Lyla raised her voice louder. "Tim, I should go. I can't do this right now. There's too much."

"Yeah…I'll…I'll drive you to your dad's house."

No, please don't go, stay the night or something, Frankie thought, sliding back up to the top of the stairs, waiting until she heard them leave, the door closing behind them. She remained there, running through it in her head. They were almost making out! That had to mean something! She wiped at her face, feeling hot. So Mom left because of something, because she didn't want…I won't end up like her, what was the big deal? Did that mean she had to divorce him?

"What are you doing?"

Frankie screamed, jumping up and almost falling down a few of the steps, staring at Tyra, who was on the staircase. "Holy crap I didn't even hear you!" she exclaimed. How did she come in so quietly? She scowled. "Can you fly or something? Geez."

"You're so lost in thought, you didn't hear me come in when your parents left, you eavesdropping on them?" Tyra sat down on the landing, leaning against it and drawing her knees up, her arms going over them, looking up the steps at her. She didn't seem like she had any plans on leaving.

Damnit. Might as well just deal with it. I hate adults, Frankie thought, shrugging, her voice soft so it didn't echo, even if there was no one but Tyra to hear. "Maybe. How else will I ever find out about them?"

She quirked her eyebrow and lip up, agreeing silently. Tyra sighed, her lips forming a slightly frown, while her brow furrowed, thinking about something. She hesitated and then turned her head again, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Have you ever just tried asking them?"

"I might as well ask them to do quantum physics calculations," Frankie said. She shook her head, chuckling. "Because that's the look I get when I ask. Dad changes the subject or just ignores me. Mom gets sad. Do you know what it's like when you get Lyla Garrity sad? It looks like I kicked a puppy and I hate it. I hate making my mom upset anyway." She sighed hard. Some answers had been found that evening. Some through listening to her father talk to Noah about Jason Street. The puzzle pieces were forming the picture, but she still didn't have the entire thing finished.

Tyra turned completely, drawing her legs beneath her. "Frankie, I've known your parents since I was little. I was there when you were born, you know." She smiled again, a little wider when Frankie scowled. "I was in the waiting room, did you know that?"

No, she thought, scowling a little harder. What did it matter? "So?"

"So, I was there, Frankie. Your dad and I are friends, very good friends. He's practically my brother." She sighed hard, leaning her head against the stairwell wall, her eyes dancing and she smiled wider. "Your mom went into labor early. Really early, you knew that?"

"Yes." She was four weeks early. Came just in time for the State game, her dad always told her. They couldn't bring her to it, obviously, but afterward, when the Panthers won, her Uncle Billy brought the game ball to the hospital and it was upstairs in her room on a stand, signed by everyone saying welcome to world and all that crap.

"So, your mom went into labor when she was at work, she was a trainer for the football team. Your dad was clear across the county, he was at some auction somewhere and I was on my way in from Austin. It was insane, Frankie. I was yelling at him to hurry up and he got a flat tire and I had to pick him up and it was like a bad romantic comedy movie," she laughed. She grinned wide, her voice softer. "But he got there just as you were born and I got to see you a few hours later. You were in your mom's room, all tucked up in a blanket, in one of those little boxes. It was me and your grandfather, we were there and…" She sighed hard, grinning again. "Your mom and dad were so happy to have you. They didn't plan you, but if your dad tells the story, he'll say that they didn't do anything to prevent you."

"Gross."

"He is gross," Tyra agreed. She tucked her hair behind her ear again, whispering. "They didn't want to separate, Frankie. If I can at least tell you that, it wasn't an easy decision for either of them, but they did it all for you. Everything was for you, no matter what you might hear. " She swallowed the lump in her throat, her voice a little tight. "And I know that you worried about your dad and I in the beginning, but he'd never do anything without letting you know, if it had anything that affected your life. You're his pride and joy, his Frankie."

That's what Billy told her once. Grandpa told it to her again, a couple days ago. "He let me go," she murmured, her eyes dull, staring straight at her aunt. She shook her head. "He let us go. He let us go to Virginia and didn't follow." Frankie got up from the stairs, looking down at her. It was decided. "I don't care anymore. Good night." She walked to her bedroom, turning around and glancing at Tyra, who was still watching her. "I'm really sorry about what happened to you. I really am and thanks…for this."

Frankie walked into her bedroom, closing the door, but she didn't lock it. She crawled onto her bed, curling in a ball. For a long time she stared ahead, looking out her window at the darkness. There were no lights out here. In D.C. that's all there were, were lights. When she came here there was nothing. Nothing but what little light there was from the house.

Her eyes closed, shutting out the light. For a moment, she thought she was going to fall asleep. Instead she opened them and got out of bed, reaching for her battered paint kit, a gift from Matt Saracen after she'd briefly studied with him. She opened it up and set a canvas on the ground, beginning to scoop up paint with her fingers and smear it across the canvas. It calmed her. A few hours later, she went downstairs to wash up and returned to her bedroom, falling asleep in seconds.


	13. Fourth of July

**A/N:**Thanks for the reviews! I really appreciate feedback. :) And I am writing a 'sequel' more from Frankie's POV than anyone else's, set a bit farther into the future (after the Epilogue for this fic, you'll see) and will be focusing a bit more on her relationships with the others. Anyways, thanks for the reviews and enjoy! There's only a couple more chapters left on this fic.

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**_Chapter 13: Fourth of July_**

I want this day over now, Noah thought, sitting with his grandparents in the football stadium, while the marching band played in front of them. He looked around, spotting the Riggins clan down near the front. He hoped that they didn't see him, hiding up here like a little bitch. He'd had to convince his grandparents that he did not get punched, but rather fell off his bike and cracked his nose into the concrete. He didn't think they believed him, but they hadn't questioned it. Just took him to the ER where it got cracked back into place.

He took a deep breath, looking out and spotting Frankie, walking into the stadium with her mom and dad. Wow, her mother was really pretty, he thought, spotting Lyla almost instantly. Frankie actually looked a lot like her, when the two were standing together. Tim looked bored, walking beside Frankie, wearing sunglasses and a Dillon Panthers t-shirt, saying something to Lyla, who just scowled at him, pushing at his shoulder.

So that was the girl that his dad almost married, wow. Noah wondered if his mother knew who she was. He wondered if his mother knew any of his dad's friends from Dillon. She didn't talk about it anymore than he did. "When does this thing start?" he asked.

Joanne shrugged, taking a photo of the football field. "I don't know."

"It's just fireworks or something, what's the big deal?"

"Honey, it's like a concert or something. They can't put on the fireworks until later tonight." Joanne waved at some friends of hers, turning to Noah. "How come you aren't with the Riggins boys?"

"Uh…didn't know where they were going to be."

"Well they're just down there with their families. Oh look!" Joanne pointed. "See the man coming in, with the redhead?"

Noah recognized him from the photos instantly. That was the elusive Coach Taylor, he thought, cocking his head. He waited a second, standing up and excusing himself, saying he needed to go get something to drink. He walked down the bleachers, coming to a stop behind Coach Taylor, who was laughing at something Tim said to him, both of them standing side-by-side. Thankfully Frankie had disappeared with her mother. He cleared is throat, catching Coach Taylor's attention. "Excuse me? Sir?" Never a more appropriate time to use the word sir. "Um…"

"This is Noah Street," Tim said, his voice cool. He smiled slightly, leaning in to Coach, his voice quiet. "Street's kid."

The other man drew his head back slightly, studying him. Noah felt like he was getting his mind x-rayed. "What happened to your nose?" Eric asked, offering his hand, shaking firmly. He followed quickly with: "And it's a pleasure to meet you Noah. What position do you play?"

How did you know I play football? "Uh…fullback."

"Riggins here teaching you a thing about being fullback?"

"We've gone around a few times, he leads too much with his shoulder, he's going to crack it one day," Tim said. He tapped Coach lightly on the shoulder with the back of his knuckles. "I gotta' go find my kid. See you around Coach."

"I'll come find you!"

"Yup."

Coach Taylor turned completely on Noah, gesturing for him to walk to one of the bleachers, where the redhead, who had to be wife, was sitting with a blonde woman beside Tyra. "Tami, come meet someone, you'll never guess who this is." He grinned wide, patting Noah's back. "This is Noah Street, Jason's son. Hard to believe, huh?"

"Well it's been seventeen years, so of course it has to be him, it's a pleasure to meet you Noah," Tami drawled, standing up and giving him a tight hug, even though he'd never met her before. She pulled back, grinning wide. "You look nothing like your father, so you have to favor your mother. How are they? It's been so long since we've gotten any kind of an update, have a seat sweetheart, are you here with your grandparents?"

How many questions can one person ask, Noah wondered, answering all of them in turn, trying to remember as she piled more on him. Eric chuckled, sitting beside him. "Give the kid a break Tami. Noah, this is my daughter, Julie."

"Julie Saracen, nice to meet you," Julie said, grinning quickly. She turned back around to Tyra, asking something about when she was going to move to Chicago. Noah never did find out why she was back in Dillon, but he sensed that Frankie probably already had. It wasn't an issue the last couple of weeks, like it had been in the beginning.

Noah sat with the both of them, turning and looking up, smiling at his grandparents who were grinning down at him. They waved and he waved in return, wondering why they didn't come down here to talk to his father's old coach. He didn't ask, not wanting to step into anything if it was something personal. He looked out at the field, the marching band finishing.

Buddy Garrity stood up to the microphone, his voice booming as he welcomed everyone to the Fourth of July festival. "Before we begin, I'd like to call up someone who was nominated by a member of our audience to sing the National Anthem. She's someone very close to my heart, so everyone give it up for my granddaughter, Francesca Riggins!"

"Oh my God! That's Tim's daughter!" Tami exclaimed. She laughed, clapping her hands together. "I didn't know she could sing!"

Tyra laughed loudly, covering her mouth. "Oh my God, she did it, she put her name in!"

No, she really didn't, Noah thought, smiling to himself, looking as a stunned Frankie approached the stage, followed by Tim, who went to stand beside a couple of the guys who were probably former Panthers being 'recognized.' Frankie cleared her throat, her eyes wide and staring out at everyone. "Um," she whispered, tucking her hair behind her ears. For the first time, Noah saw her speechless.

Come on Frankie, he thought, looking up at her. Frankie closed her eyes, the marching band beginning to play. Maybe this was bad, he thought, as she stuttered for a second, before she swallowed hard. She was going to do it. She'd get through it, he thought, listening as she began to sing, her voice shockingly powerful for someone so small. It was slightly husky, but she could belt it out when she drew in enough air.

Noah remained standing, with everyone else, as they cheered her when she finished; her cheeks flushed pink and her eyes shining bright. When he first met her, he thought she seemed older than thirteen-years old. Right now, with the awed look in her eyes, Frankie seemed every single bit her thirteen years, grinning and giggling. "She's good!" Tami exclaimed, applauding and cheering. "Whoo! Go Frankie!"

Frankie giggled, stepping aside, turning to give her dad a big hug. "Isn't that sweet?" Coach Taylor said. "She looks like him, don't you think Tami?"

"She looks like Lyla, Dad," Julie piped up.

"Was I talking to you? Where is your sister by the way? Noah, my daughter Gracie is about your age, maybe you can tell her it's about time she start looking at colleges, she thinks she's going to be able to just make a million bucks at nothing."

"It's not nothing, she's a decent dancer and she's off with Steven Riggins," Tami said, clapping and cheering when Buddy called up Eric to the stage. She grinned, pushing at his shoulder, ignoring his stuttering question about why Gracie was with a Riggins. "Get up there baby, I love you!"

Eric scowled, trudging up to the stage. He got a standing ovation, which Noah thought was pretty neat, sitting back down when Eric began to speak, thanking them for the welcome and how good it was to be back in Texas and in Dillon specifically. He spoke about the team, about each one and then called up the ones who were present. "And," he said, after comically pushing Tim aside when the entire stadium wouldn't stop applauding for him, Eric chuckled. "Our final Dillon Panther just got in from New York. He's probably renegotiating for the running back he flew in with. Jason Street and Smash Williams!"

What the hell!? Noah jumped up, staring as his father wheeled in from the side of the stadium, followed by running back Smash Williams, who was on one of his last years in the business, waving and blowing kisses for everyone who was screaming his name. Noah didn't care about Smash; he'd met him more than enough times, but his dad…he just stared, seeing Jason smile at him, giving a small wave with his fist, having Smash push him up a ramp at the side of the stage, shaking Coach's hand and then going over to sit beside Tim, who leaned down to give him a fist-bump and an awkward one-arm man-hug.

What was he doing here, Noah wondered, staring at his father. He swallowed hard, reaching to touch his nose. He had some explaining to do. He felt like someone was watching him, slowly turning to see Steve frowning slightly at him, as Frankie stood beside Steve, flushed pink, not clapping. She lowered her head, saying nothing. "I gotta' go…" he didn't even finish, walking away from the Taylors, slipping out of the stadium and ignoring the frantic yelling of his name from someone that sounded an awful lot like Frankie.

I don't want to talk to you, he thought, storming through the parking lot. He had no idea where he was supposed to go, since his bike was at the house and he'd driven with his grandparents. Oh well, I'll walk. Noah kept walking, ignoring Frankie running after him.

Until finally he felt someone knock him down and the next thing he knew, he was eating grass. "What the hell?" he yelled, pushing her off of him. He scrambled to his feet, glaring angrily at her. She looked sheepish. He threw his arms out to the side. "You want to know why you have no friends Francesca?" He couldn't even think to call her by her nickname right now, he was so angry with her. He jabbed a finger into her chest, pushing her back a step. "It's because you do shit like that. You act like a four-year old when you're not! You're smarter than everyone in this town, you have more talent than anyone else either, but you're immature and sarcastic and bitter!"

Frankie's face fell, a hurt one replacing the sheepishness. She swallowed nervously, her hazel eyes big and shining. "I'm sorry, you weren't waiting up for me."

"You don't knock the person into the ground!"

"I'm sorry! Look, you're not talking to me and you have every right! I'm sorry I kissed you!" she yelled. She dug her fingers into her hair, the frizzy auburn curls flying around her pale face. It fell back down to her shoulders, her bracelets falling to her forearms. She wrapped her arms around herself, saying nothing, while Noah stood, waiting for…something. After a moment, she spoke, her voice thick with unshed tears. "I'm sorry…I told Steve. I know he hit you last night. Because of me."

"He's like your brother, he's defending your honor or whatever." Noah mumbled, looking down at the grass. "I didn't tell him, he figured it out…and you better hope to God your dad never finds out what Steve thought, because I do not want him mad at me." Tim Riggins would probably kill him. Punch him through a wall and then pour concrete over what was left of his body or something. "God help the guy that actually ends up with you."

Frankie snorted, looking at her feet again. She wiggled her Chucks, lifting her eyes again. In the dim light from the parking lot lamps, she looked small. Just like she had on the stage when she was singing. "I know you put my name in for that thing and…and thank you," she murmured. She swallowed hard. "I never would have done it."

"You have a good voice, you should have been up there," Noah said.

"There's been a lot going on and I'm sorry, I just…I thought…I like you and you…I'm sorry," Frankie stammered. Her voice was tiny and soft. "I told Steve the truth…felt like he needed to know because he was your friend. He wanted to kill me when I told him." She looked up again, whispering. "My dad won't know, don't worry about it."

Noah nodded curtly. He glanced back at the stage, hearing Buddy talking about each one of the players and what they were doing now. "You need to get back there, your parents are both together…you should be with them, before your mom leaves."

"Before it goes back to normal," Frankie mumbled, reaching to tug at the sleeves of her flannel shirt. She tossed her hair out of her face, leaning on her heel. "Are you going to leave? Now that your dad is here?"

I don't know…I thought I had to get out of here because of what happened between us, with Steve hating me, but…this really wasn't his town. It was nice and all, but Noah wanted out still. As much fun as it had been. "Maybe, we'll see," he whispered.

"I'm really sorry."

"You should be sorry." Noah stepped back from her again, crossing his arms over his chest. He nodded towards the stadium again, his voice quiet. "Go back to your family Frankie. You could really use it." I just need to take a step back from you. He loved her like a little sister and it freaked him out that in a month she'd somehow become that close to him, through no fault of his own. But if she didn't feel like he was a brother…it would be easiest if he just stayed away from her. For her own sake.

Frankie nodded, moving away and turning. She stopped, glancing over her shoulder again. She smiled, tucking her hair behind her ears, her arms going to wrap around herself again. She was very tiny. Noah narrowed his eyes, looking her up and down. Like a doll, she was so small. "It's been a fun summer," she whispered. She looked around again, trying to smile, but it just fell and she seemed like she was going to cry. A moment later, she was crying. "Even if it's the summer everything started going to pieces."

Noah didn't say anything; what could he say to that? It would all be okay? It might not be okay. He'd learned that the hard way. He watched her leave, returning to the stadium. He looked up again, only this time instead of seeing Frankie, he saw his father wheeling towards him. Jason stopped in front of him, his fingers on the thin rims of his chair. It was one of those almost non-existent chairs. Practically no back, the wheels sitting right underneath him. It was so much a part of him that he usually didn't even notice the chair until they had to take an elevator or go up a ramp or something. "Hey Dad," he murmured.

"You sounded really upset, I thought maybe…I would come out here after all," Jason said, looking up. He nodded towards the street. "Come on Noah. Let's talk."

"I'm so tired of talking…of overthinking." I just don't want to do it anymore. It wasn't worth it. Noah raked his fingers through his hair, sending it a million places. He closed his eyes, whispering. "I'm sorry."

"So you said. Come on; let's get away from this insanity. We can see them all later." Jason wheeled past him, going towards a truck with a handicap license plate. Noah waited until he was in the driver's seat before he took the chair, folding it back and placing it in the bed of the truck, before he climbed into the passenger seat. He closed his eyes and leaned against the window, not looking when Jason drove away.


	14. A Reunion of Sorts

**_Chapter 14: A Reunion Of Sorts_**

Noah was asleep, his parents were out with some friends, and Jason was out here, away from where he probably needed to be. He reached up to the door, hitting his knuckles against it. He glanced around the darkness; you think that Tim could have afforded some lights along his driveway or something. He'd damn near driven around for an hour before he found the place. He looked up when the door opened, Tim standing on the other side. His best friend leaned against the doorway, saying nothing. Jason rolled his eyes. "Get out of the way and let me in."

"Well you're just sitting pretty out here, didn't want to disturb you."

"Who is that? Is that Jason?"

"Who is here with you?" Jason asked, wondering if he interrupted something. He had no idea who Tim was seeing these days, it was probably just a rotating cast of characters. He looked up, his eyes widening when Lyla emerged from the kitchen, wearing a Washington Redskins t-shirt and a pair of jeans. "Hey!"

Lyla's eyes lit up and she rushed towards him, giving him a big hug and kiss on the cheek. "Oh Jason," she sighed, kissing him again. She stepped back, looking him up and down like mothers were wont to do. "Look at you. You look amazing."

"So do you, Ms. Head Trainer for the Redskins."

She smiled, her chin lifting, obviously proud of herself. Even her chest puffed up with pride. "Don't forget first female head trainer for a National Football League team." Jason grinned. He knew Lyla was going to go off and make a name for herself. She always had to be the best at everything, it only served that whatever profession she got herself into, that she'd try to be the best at that as well.

While Jason was proud, he fully expected some comment from Tim, which came a second later. "I don't care if you're the first female whatever, I forbid you to wear crap like that in my house, Cowboys only," Tim said, tugging on the bottom of her t-shirt.

"I'm sorry, you forbid me? Since when have you ever told me what to do?"

"Since now."

"Yeah and watch me not listen to you. It should be easy, since I learned from you!"

And watch Tim not listen to her, Jason thought, shaking his head in disbelief at how those two had managed to stay together as long as they had in the first place, let alone find the time to get married and have a kid. Tim ignored her, already going to the fridge, removing a beer and passing it to Jason, who took it in his hand. Tim glanced at the way he folded his fingers around the bottle, waiting a second and then said nothing. Jason rolled his eyes. Most people wanted to talk about how he could now do that, could he walk yet, all that stuff. Tim just took everything in stride. "So where is Noah? He ran out so fast during that stupid thing. Did he talk with Coach?"

"Not for as long as I would have hoped, but he'll see him tomorrow." Jason didn't want to get into a discussion about his son. He'd taken Noah back to the house, where his son proceeded to tell him that he'd been hanging with the Riggins brothers, with Frankie, and that he didn't want to be there anymore, because he'd overstepped. How Frankie was all upset about his parents, but he wouldn't get into that with him because it was her business, and that he just wanted to go home, because he'd had enough.

And Jason believed him, seeing that his son was different. He wasn't flippant, he had a clearer look in his eyes that told Jason he hadn't been drinking, and there wasn't any talk about a girl dragging him around. Even the fact that he'd become good friends with the Riggins brothers didn't bother Jason; Billy and Mindy were raising them right, they weren't the way that Tim and Billy were. In fact, he was glad in a way, because maybe they'd teach Noah how to behave with the type of talent that he had. And it seemed that they did, even in the short five weeks Noah was in Dillon.

He wheeled himself into the living room. "So where is Frankie?"

"She's with Buddy right now, he'll drop her off when they're done having Grandpa time," Lyla answered, taking a seat on the couch, drawing her legs beneath her. She smiled warmly. "How is Noah doing? I didn't get a chance to meet him yet."

"He's fine. I came over because it seems he and Frankie bonded." He grinned, shaking his head. "If she weren't thirteen, wouldn't it be funny if they hooked up? Our kids?"

"She's thirteen," Tim warned. He shuddered. "I don't want to think of her with boys."

"Amen to that," Lyla said, sipping her beer bottle. She swallowed hard, her brow wrinkling. "She doesn't have many friends," she murmured, lifting her eyes to Jason. She smiled sadly. "I am glad at least this summer she found someone…close to her age at least."

They all hadn't talked in ages. Jason would have mistaken this for a moment back in high school if Tim and Lyla hadn't been almost clear on the other side of the room from each other, not looking each other in the eyes, if Lyla hadn't had a tanline on her left ring finger and Tim didn't look physically in pain just being here. He sighed, knowing that they'd allowed time to creep between them. He lifted his eyes again, glancing Tim's direction. "Thank you for speaking with Noah. I'm sure it helped."

"Yeah, well…not one for lectures, you know me," Tim mumbled, turning his beer bottle around, his thumb catching a drop of condensation from falling onto his hand. He lifted it to his lips. "Showed him some stuff from high school. He wanted to know about you."

Maybe it was wrong to hide that part of his life from Noah, but Jason didn't want him to make distinctions. The guy in the wheelchair and the guy who wasn't. He shook his head slightly, saying nothing and sipped his beer. Another awkward, quiet moment passed between the three of them. "How is Ethan, Lyla?" he asked, lifting his eyes to hers. It was a dangerous subject, with Tim in the room and Jason knew the answer anyway; his firm represented Rivera.

She snorted, shaking her head, whispering. "Back in Los Angeles with a girl he used to date before he got bit by the family bug." Lyla looked at Tim, her voice soft. "I have a lawyer drafting the papers now, but…I don't want any of his money, nothing…just want to get Frankie and go."

"How's Frankie taking it?"

"She loves him," Lyla said. She swallowed a sip of beer relatively hard, gasping slightly in pain, reaching to touch at her neck. "It hurts her, but he loves her and I know he doesn't want to hurt her. It'll work out." She readjusted her ponytail, whispering again, stealing a glance at Tim. "It'll all work out in the end."

Jason looked at Tim, who was staring off into space, twisting his bottle around on the armrest of his chair. "And Tyra? How is she? Noah mentioned she was living here."

"She's moving to Chicago. She'll be okay." And that was all Jason knew he was going to get out of Tim on that subject. Damn, this was a weird evening. He just drank his beer.

After another long moment of silence, the three of them lost in their respective words, Lyla pulled him from his, Jason looking over at her when she spoke, her voice soft. "I think Frankie really liked Noah," she said. She arched an eyebrow. "She seemed smitten with him. Like puppy love, but…did something happen?"

"What?" Tim demanded.

Lyla rolled her eyes. "Tone it down the Papa Bear." She sighed. "I'm just saying, I know my daughter and the last few days she has barely said a word to me. Usually she acts like I'm a stranger to her during the summer anyway…"

"No she doesn't, don't sell yourself short that way," Tim interrupted.

Continuing as though Tim, who had now finished his beer and was up to get another, wasn't constantly interrupting her Lyla was matter-of-fact. "I love Frankie, but she's a handful and yes, she'll separate the two of us," she called to the kitchen, where Tim had closed the door. "And she plays us against each other during the summer. She's also…odd."

"She's perfectly fine."

Jason chuckled at Tim. He'd never seen him like this about his daughter. Of course, the last time he'd seen Frankie, she was four-years old, her hair was in pigtails, and she was telling him how she wanted to be the first girl to play in the NFL. His attention caught a painting on the wall of the house. "That's gorgeous. Did Matt do that?"

"Matt did that one," Tim said, pointing to the one behind the desk. He pointed back to the one of the house. "That's Frankie. The other one behind me is Frankie and…" He gestured to a couple of ones on the wall next to the windows. "Those are hers too."

"We should think about putting her in an art school," Lyla commented, looking at the painting again, shaking her head. "I just don't know what to do with her most of the time."

"You don't know what to do? I sent Noah to live with my parents for the summer because I had no idea what to do with him." Jason shook his head, smiling sadly, glancing at Tim. "He was on a one-way track to end up a drunk womanizing kid who throws away his talent because he was told by too many people he had it….that incident at the end of the year just about did me in, but I already told you."

"I'm sorry about that," Lyla murmured. He lifted his head quickly; he hadn't told her. She answered the unspoken question. "Tim told me earlier." Thanks for that one best friend, I thought I told you not to tell anyone, Jason thought. He looked at Tim, who had his eyes closed. He was probably drunk already. Sure enough, Tim opened his eyes, finished off the second bottle in his hand and was getting up to go to the kitchen again. "Stop it," Lyla said, getting up from the couch and marching to the kitchen.

Jason sighed, shaking his head. He didn't know what to do with either of them. They were ridiculous. He ignored the raised voices from the kitchen and the sound of a bottle breaking. No doubt Lyla had tossed one into the sink without caring that glass broke when smashed against porcelain. He wheeled himself to the mantelpiece, inspecting the few personal photos Tim allowed out. He wanted to reach up and take one down of Frankie, to get a better look at her, when he heard the front door opening. He turned, wheeling himself to see who it was. The object of the photos stood on the stoop, setting down her guitar case. "Hey Frankie," he greeted her. He waved stupidly. "I'm Jason, your dad's friend."

"Noah's father," Frankie said. It wasn't a question. She looked down the hall leading to the kitchen. "Is my dad here?"

And your mother, but Jason wanted her to find that out on her own. "Yeah, he's in the kitchen."

"And is Tyra with him?"

"Actually, no." He followed her, smiling to himself when Frankie's eyes lit up at the sight of her parents taking feverishly with each other in front of the French doors. He sighed, rubbing at his temple with his thumbtip. Guys, do not screw this up for your kid. She's confused enough as it is. "I think I'm going to go back to the house, maybe go drop by Buddy's and see if Coach Taylor is there."

"He's at the hotel, he was with us at Grandpa's tonight," Frankie said. She cocked her head, studying Tim for a moment. He stared back at her. She pursed her lips. "Did you really quit the team and run to Mexico for a week? And when I skipped school last year for one day to go to the Renior exhibit at the National Gallery of Art, I got a lecture from you on responsibility!"

"Uh…"

Welcome to parenthood, where hypocrisy becomes the norm, Jason chuckled. He smiled as Lyla came over to give him a quick hug and kiss goodbye. "Good luck with those two," he teased, as Frankie began to battle it out with Tim. He laughed out loud. "Coach Taylor has no idea what he did telling her all those stories about him."

"Well I'm going to have to separate them before they come to…oh never mind," Lyla drawled as Tim hauled Frankie up over his shoulder, marching her off the porch. She shook her head. "He better not drop her in the pond, I am not going to deal with her having a panic attack." She turned back to Jason, smiling again, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Whatever happened between our two children, I'm glad that they were friends and…and it seems like, based on what little I have managed to gather from my daughter, who can be as obstinate as her father, that Noah did an upstanding thing. I just don't want her to be hurt, but…"

"No parent wants their child hurt," Jason said. He sighed hard. "And sometimes teaching them a lesson after they are hurting is…is painful enough."

"Are you going to bring him back to New York?"

He nodded; unless Noah wanted to stay for the remainder of the summer, he'd bring him back. Jason was the judge and he judged that Noah had learned his lesson. It might not be an overnight lesson and might still require occasional work, but he seemed genuinely remorseful for his actions the last couple of years. There was still a long way to go, but Dillon had had its effect. Jason looked up again, his voice soft. "What are you going to do about Frankie? You can't keep them apart Lyla."

I've been here for like five minutes and can tell how painful it must be for Tim for the other nine months of the year he was without his daughter. Lyla closed her eyes tight; the question was already on her mind. She shook her head, heaving a sob. "I don't know Jason, I really don't know…Frankie needs so much attention, all the damn time, and…and now that Ethan is gone…I just don't know." She reached to tug an elastic holder from her ponytail, shaking her hair out and nervously pulling it back again. She let her hands fall to her sides, her voice full of tears. "I love my daughter Jason, but she seems happiest when she's away from me, what does that say?"

"It says the same thing I wonder about Noah," Jason murmured. He smiled again, his eyes closing briefly. He sighed hard. "We try to protect them. I didn't tell Noah about my life here in Dillon, before the chair…maybe I could have engaged with him more, maybe I'm the reason for everything wrong he's done in the last couple years, I don't know Lyla, but…but you try to protect her by not telling her about your life with Tim and you try to protect her by only keeping her in Dillon a short time of the year, but she's his daughter, Lyla. You know it as much as I do that…this place?" He shrugged. "For you and me it's a place. It's a trap. For Tim and maybe for Frankie, Dillon is where they belong."

Lyla groaned, pushing her hands over her face. She laughed, crossing her arms over her chest. "Damnit Jason, why do you have to be so smart?"

"I'm not smart, just ask my wife."

That got them on a brief discussion of how Erin was. She was working nights as a nurse, after getting her degree a few years ago. Loving her job, but missing that she wasn't around much during the evenings. Jason made sure that now that Noah was coming back, he would put more effort into being there. He reached his arms up, giving Lyla another hug.

She knelt, kissing his cheek. "I love you," she said, pulling away, squeezing his hands. He forgot how touchy she was.

"I love you too," he said. He looked around her, seeing Tim coming back with Frankie. He called out to his best friend. "I'm out of here, will I see you tomorrow?"

"Sure, breakfast? We'll get Coach and the rest. This cat's gonna' talk to Saracen."

"I know Saracen," Frankie said, blowing hair from her eyes, slipping out from the headlock Tim had her in. She danced away from him to the stairs, smiling at Jason. "Nice to meet you, tell Noah…" her voice faded. She shrugged. "I'll be around. He knows how to reach me." She looked between Tim and Lyla, her eyes wide and her smile pulling on her lips. "Are you guys…staying here tonight?" she asked, hopeful.

Lyla shook her head, briefly smiling. "Sorry sweetheart, but I'm going back to your Grandpa's…"

"You can stay, I'll take the couch," Tim said, interrupting her again.

Jason wheeled himself to the door, saying his goodbyes. He'd see them tomorrow, most likely, but this was just in case. He left, getting back into his truck. He glanced at the front porch, where the three of them were standing, Tim holding Frankie up like she was a log or a bench press, while she giggled, her feet kicking. Lyla just ignored them both, playing straight man, talking with Tim.

You guys better get your shit figured out, he thought, reaching for the phone and punching the speed dial for Erin. He backed out of the driveway, waiting for her to pick up. When she did, he smiled wide. "How's my favorite redhead?"

"The only redhead you know."

"Actually I just came from having a rather interesting discussion with another redhead." He chuckled. "Tim's daughter."

"How is she doing? The news here was talking about the divorce. That Ethan Rivera sounds like a tool, I don't care how much money he has." Erin sighed. "What's our son doing?"

"He should be sleeping, but we'll be home in a few days. Unless he wants to stay." He continued to speak with her, disconnecting when they he got to the house, saying he loved her and he'd see her soon. He wheeled himself up to the house, letting himself in quietly and closing the door behind him. He made his way to the back of the house, smiling at Noah, who was pouring milk into a cereal bowl. "Can't sleep?"

"No. Plus the phone rang, Steve wanted to say he was sorry." Noah shrugged, putting the milk back. "Whatever."

"He seems like he was a good friend."

"Whatever," Noah mumbled. He caught himself, looking up, sighing and shook his head. "Sorry…yeah, he was a friend…it'll be okay, I just…just want to stay away from Frankie until…well until her crush goes away or something."

"She's thirteen. It'll go away soon." He wheeled himself to the kitchen table, sitting beside Noah, who set the bowl on the table, getting up and returning with another spoon. Jason dunked the spoon into the bowl of Lucky Charms, chuckling. "These were your favorite as a little kid."

"Still are."

"No, you would only eat these." He smiled, biting into the spoonful and chewed, swallowing a second later. "Your mom craved them when she was pregnant with you."

"Really?" Noah asked, chuckling. He took a bite. A moment later, he set the spoon back in the bowl, pulling up another bunch of marshmallows. "So did you meet Mom after a terrible blind date? That's what Tim told me."

"God, yes I did, it was awful. Your stupid Uncle Herc…" Jason closed his eyes, laughing at the absurdity of the memory. Quad dating sites. That was never going to get him anywhere good, he should have realized. Although, it ironically led him to Erin, so he supposed it was all worth it.

"Uncle Herc is an idiot Dad, I can't believe you'd do anything he said was a good idea."

"Same goes for Tim."

"Tim doesn't seem like an idiot," Noah said.

"Oh how little you know." Jason shook his head, laughing again. It felt good to laugh with his son. It had seemed like forever since they'd done something like this. He dipped his spoon back into the bowl. "So are you going to come home with me? Or do you want to stay?"

Noah shrugged, looking down at the bowl. He shook his head, whispering. "I have practice soon…if you'll let me go…" He bit his lip, looking back down at his hands. He squeezed his fingers into his palms. He sighed, looking back at Jason, whispering. "I'd like to stay…just for another couple of weeks. Please."

You don't have to say please, Jason thought, smiling and reaching for the bowl. "I think we can make that happen," he murmured. He dipped the spoon back into the milk to collect one of the last bits of marshmallows, but Noah's smacked right into his. "Oh no kid, this is mine."

"I don't think so."

He laughed, using his spoon like a sword, smacking it into Noah's, who laughed, throwing his head back and grinning. Jason grinned equally wide. He looked so much like his mother. The best thing I ever got to be a part of, he thought, knocking his spoon back into Noah's. Even if sometimes it was one of the most painful and stressful things in the world. At least he got to have moments like this.


	15. Painting and Parents

_**Chapter 15: Painting and Parents**_

What is happening in the world right now?

Frankie stood in the doorway of her bathroom, which was off the kitchen, watching in awe as her parents went back and forth on how best to make pancakes. She'd just gotten out of the shower and was just gaping, standing there in her robe and with her hair in a towel. She had no idea there was an exact way to make pancakes.

"That's not whisking," Tim chided, leaning around Lyla and taking her hands, holding the bowl and quickly turning the whisk. She giggled, trying to push him away, which just got pancake batter over her hands when the bowl dropped the counter. "Now look at the mess you're making!"

"Shut up!"

She blinked; what was happening? She loudly cleared her throat; both of them shot apart, Lyla wiping up pancake batter while Tim went to the coffee pot. "Hey Frankie Wankie," Tim said, using her baby nickname. He smiled quickly. "You want some pancakes?"

"If you guys can actually make them," she drawled, walking across the kitchen towards the stairs. She gestured with her thumb behind her. "I was actually going to go have breakfast with the Taylors and Saracens." She swallowed hard, glancing between both of them. "If that's okay."

Lyla and Tim exchanged a look. "More than okay," Lyla answered, smiling. She turned around, leaning against the counter. Her voice softened. "Are you feeling better? You've been off the past couple days."

I'm okay, she thought, shrugging. Her towel turban shifted slightly and she dropped it, shaking her wet straggly curls out with her hand. "I'm fine. What are you going to do today?"

"Work," Tim said. He pointed towards the porch. "And paint over the paint you dropped there yesterday. It looks like a murder scene, there's red all over the wood."

"Yeah sorry about that." She'd gotten carried away with her sunset painting yesterday. The red did kind of go all over the place. Well, she thought, lifting her eyebrows as the two of them just kept watching her. She coughed. "This is swell, you guys get back to making pancakes. I'm going upstairs." She disappeared, ignoring her mom calling for her to hold up; maybe they could talk later. I do not want to talk, she thought, closing her bedroom door and going to her armoire, removing some clothes.

After she'd dressed, she sat down at her desk, reaching for her sketchpad. She had some drawings she wanted to show Matt. When she finished plucking the ones she wanted to show him, slipping them between plastic protectors so the charcoal and pencil didn't smear, she turned to her computer. Time for a project, she thought, reaching for a Canon camera she'd received as a birthday gift last year from her father. Of all the gifts she'd gotten in her life and there were many, since Ethan tended to spoil her, the ones that meant the most to her all came from her father. They were usually expensive and she knew that he saved up a lot to be able to afford them for her. The ones Ethan got her were impersonal. Except for her guitar. She plugged the Canon into her computer, drawing her knee up and wrapping her arm around it, one-handedly downloading the images into her photoshop program.

She tossed her hair out of her eyes, working on the image she'd managed to locate, somewhere from a couple weeks ago. She changed colors around, immersing herself in the art of photography. She almost didn't even notice her phone ringing. "Take Me Out to the Ballgame." Great. Frankie lifted the phone up, clearing her throat. "Hey."

"Hey Frankie," Ethan said. He sighed. "How are you doing?"

"Fine." She didn't know what to say to him. Frankie wiped at her forehead, knocking her bangs aside. She turned the phone to speaker, setting it down and continuing with her photography. "So what's going on Ethan?"

"Ah…I know your mom is out there. I know she probably talked to you and…and I wanted to let you know again, that…that this isn't about you. This has nothing to do with you, I still love you and care for you, okay?"

"You still love and care for Mischa?" she asked, thinking of his ex-girlfriend he was back together with. She shrugged. "Because that'd be nice if you did. Be nice if you did before you married my mom."

Ethan groaned. "Frankie, don't Google our names, please. This has nothing to do with Mischa. We got together after your mother and I separated a few months ago." He sighed again. "Frankie I've set up a trust for you. I want to take care of you and know that I will always be here if you need me. I do love you like a daughter."

You're not my father. Frankie sighed, her voice dropping. "Fine."

"Your father is your father, Frankie. I never wanted to take his place, but…I am here, if you still want me to be."

Well you never did take his place. You were just…just there too. She wiped at her eyes, feeling tears prick. She hadn't allowed herself to really think about Ethan in all of this. Or of how much she'd miss him. Or even how much her father thought of Ethan. She looked down at her keyboard, whispering. "Did you ever talk to my dad about me?"

Ethan paused. He swallowed audibly and took a deep breath, releasing it, shakily. "Yes, sometimes. I…I had a conversation with him a few years ago. When he came to D.C., for your science fair project."

"What did you tell him?"

"Frankie."

"What did you guys talk about?" she demanded. She printed the photograph she'd finished working with, tucking it into her folder of drawings, getting up and transferring the call off speaker, walking around with it to her shoulder, taking her portfolio and slinging it over her shoulder, leaving her bedroom.

"Frankie I don't think this is something you and I need to discuss."

"I think it is, I want to know what you guys talked about."

Ethan sighed again. "Frankie I told him that I loved you like my daughter, but he was always going to be your father. I told him that I would provide you with everything I could ever give you and that he shouldn't feel insecure about it."

That made sense, because that was one of the worst visits she'd had with him. Once they got through the science fair, her father had gotten surly and very nervous the entire visit. He ended up leaving early, saying he had to get back to Texas to return to work. She'd been so disappointed. It only made sense that Ethan had talked to him and made him feel…feel stupid. Frankie sometimes felt like that around Ethan and his friends. "Well congratulations Ethan, because you made him feel like crap and right now I don't really want to talk to you, because you cheated on my mother."

"Frankie I didn't cheat on your mother, I would never do that, I love her. This is an adult thing and…and I just wanted to hear your voice. To let you know that this has nothing to do with you and I will be here." Ethan paused. "That's all."

"Well fine. I'll talk to you later." She didn't want to hear his apologies anymore, disconnecting and throwing her phone into her bag, leaving in her golf cart without telling her parents where she was going. She sighed. That would come back and bite her in the ass. She picked up her phone, calling her dad.

It went to voicemail, so she called her mother, who answered, sounding breathless. "I left for breakfast with the Taylors and Saracens," she said. "Forgot to tell you."

"You need a ride?"

"I'm in the golf cart. Talk to you later." Frankie narrowed her eyes. "What are you and Dad doing?"

"Ah…cleaning the kitchen. I'm going to talk with the football team later this afternoon, if you want to come with me. Remember I'm leaving tomorrow. I have to stop in Dallas for a day before I go back to D.C."

"Okay. I'll see you later." Frankie hung up, letting her parents get back to whatever it was they were doing. If they were getting along, who was she to stop it? She wanted them to be happy together. Maybe, just maybe, now that Ethan and her mom were divorcing, there would be a shot for her parents. Especially after what she'd overheard in the living room and from what Aunt Tyra told her. I don't even want to think about this right now, Frankie thought, driving to the diner and parking her golf cart in a loading area. Everyone knew it was her, they wouldn't do anything. She grabbed the portfolio, going inside and spotting a large booth full of Taylors and Saraens. She smiled, waving and walking over. "Hello," she greeted them.

"Frankie!" Coach exclaimed, getting up and giving her a big hug. She always liked to see him. "Sit down sweetheart, sorry we started without you, I thought you said you were going to be with your parents this morning?"

That was until I saw them getting along, she thought, smiling mysteriously. "Change of plans." She set the portfolio against the side of the booth, looking around the booth. Coach Taylor, Mrs. Taylor, Julie, Matt, and…she stared at Noah, who was just smiling slightly at her. "Ah…hello Noah." Her heart pounded hard. She hadn't seen him since he'd dressed her down at the Fourth of July event a couple of days ago.

"Frankie."

Matt poked her. "What do you have for me?" he asked. He reached over to her portfolio, which she opened, removing the book of drawings. He began to flick through them, his eyes widened. "Wow…you've finally specialized, huh?"

"I like drawing people." And houses. For some reason she liked to draw houses.

"Those are gorgeous," Julie said, leaning over her husband's arm, pointing to one in particular of Tim's house, shaded in colors of orange and red. It was a sunset, but she wanted to make it warmer. She smiled at Frankie. "You've got some talent."

"And she can sing too," Tami piped up, smiling. She glanced at Noah. "And this one can play football. Seems like both of you have quite a future ahead of you. Now Noah, what schools are you looking at? Remember, it's not just about football, you have to look beyond and get a good education."

I knew she was going to start talking about that, Frankie thought, glancing at Coach Taylor, who was just smiling, as though he were thinking the same thing. She let Matt inspect her drawings, leaning over the table to Coach. "So Mom says that she's got stuff for the football team, she's talking to them about the Redskins today. I think I can get her to get you some swag. How about it?"

"Frankie you are a little con."

"I know."

"Your dad's real proud of you," he said, his voice soft, looking over at her. She felt her cheeks turn pink. Coach Taylor saying that was…well that was a big deal. She looked down at her hands. Coach's voice dropped again, both of them the only ones able to hear it. "He told me that you've been having a hard summer. It'll get better Frankie. Just keep your head up."

I will, she vowed, nodding quickly, looking up when the waitress came over to take their order. Matt pulled out a couple of drawings he wanted to take with him back to Chicago, to put on display for his art students at the Art Institute. "You should come back and spend some more time," he said.

"Yes, we had fun last time," Julie said. She smiled again at Frankie, lifting her eyebrow. "And we moved out of that terribly cramped apartment, so you'll have your own room this time and not a couch for a few weeks," she laughed. She tapped the drawings again. "When are you returning to school? Don't you have a winter program Matt?"

Matt nodded. "We have a winter program, you'll stay in a dorm, but of course you can stay with us and…and well we can work out the admissions stuff, it's for some older kids, but…" he stuttered a little bit, finally sighing, looking back at the portfolio. "These are really, really good," he whispered, turning to another. He pointed at it, frowning. "Who is this?"

Frankie looked at the drawing in question. It was charcoal, a shadowy image smeared against the dock and the pond. She lifted her eyes to Noah, who was frowning slightly, holding his mug of coffee loosely in his fingertips. She sighed, not breaking her eyes from his. "A friend."

Noah looked away, but he was still smiling, nodding slightly. Matt began to ask her a couple more questions about her chosen mediums for art, while Tami kept up on Noah's school choices. Coach Taylor interrupted with questions every so often about her parents and how Jason was doing, even if he had already spoken with them. It was all very…family, she thought. She didn't stick around to speak with Noah; he'd made it clear to her they needed a break. So she said her goodbyes, promising she'd let Matt know what her mom said about the art program, and left the diner, getting back into her golf cart and driving off back to the house. She parked, walking up the steps and out onto the back porch, finding her parents talking quietly. "Hey," she said.

"Hey, how was breakfast?" Lyla asked, setting down her mug of coffee. She smiled wide. "Did you have a good time with everyone?"

Frankie nodded, walking over to sit beside her mom, resting her head on her shoulder. Lyla kissed her forehead. She turned her gaze to her dad, who was looking down at his cup of coffee. "I like this," she whispered. She sighed hard. "Sorry I've been so weird lately."

"Don't be sorry," Lyla immediately said, kissing her head again. She sighed. "You've been going through a lot. No one faults you."

Yeah, but still. She looked at her mother again. "So Matt has an art program."

"Frankie…"

"Let her go," Tim said, speaking for the first time since she'd come out onto the porch. He smiled. "If it means I don't get her next year for summer or something, then fine."

"Really?" Frankie asked.

"Really."

Lyla took a deep breath, her eyes on Tim. "So I haven't told you, but…the reason I'm going to Dallas is because I have a job interview."

Frankie turned her head up instantly. Tim moved his feet, leaning over his knees and staring at her. "What?" she asked. A job interview? Dallas? But…but that was only five hours away! It was like…like a lot closer than D.C. was. She could have weekends here. Her heart hit hard against her ribcage and her eyes widened. "Dallas?"

"Yes," Lyla whispered, looking down. She smiled wide, glancing between both of them. "It's a step down in terms of pay and title, but I'd be the kinesiologist for the Dallas Cowboys. So it's a lot more hands on, less administrative, but…it'd be in Texas." She grinned. "And I think we can go back to court and redo the custody arrangement. If I get the job, which I haven't. I was going to wait, but…" She giggled, shrugging her shoulders. "I couldn't contain myself."

Dallas! Wow…Frankie jumped up, running to tackle Tim, who already had his arms out. "I could stay the weekends! And Christmas!"

"It's not official," Tim warned her, looking back at Lyla. He grinned. "But if I know your mother, she gets what she wants."

Lyla just smirked. "Yes I do. I get what I want." She pursed her lips, looking up again, her fingers fiddling in her lap. "And…I want you guys to be closer than you are. It's only fair…especially with this divorce."

"We don't need to talk about that," Tim said, hugging Frankie tight against him. He kissed the top of her head. "You seem happy again kid."

I am happy, she thought, hugging him tighter, her eyes closing. It seemed like the pieces had fallen apart but were starting to come back together. Although there was still one more thing left to be done. She sat back up again, closing her eyes, whispering. "I have to tell you something…about why Noah isn't around anymore."

Her parents exchanged a look and her mother got up, coming to sit on the other side of her, on the same bench. Tim sighed, reaching to hold his head up on his hand. "Go on," he said. Frankie nodded and took a deep breath, proceeding to tell them what had happened about their fight.

And when it was over, she actually felt better.


	16. Confidence Boost

**A/N:**Thanks for the reviews! There are two more chapters left :) And then I don't have anything in the works, believe it or not. I'm writing a 'sequel' but it's nowhere near ready. I have a fluffy Buddy Garrity fic that's been done for awhile, but it's even more fluffy than most I've written so I might hold off. I'm really trying to write some more Eric/Tami stuff, but I'm just not comfortable with their characters, but I'm trying to branch from the Tim/Lyla. Enjoy this chapter!

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_**Chapter 16: Confidence Boost**_

"Noah, there's someone at the door for you!"

I don't really feel like talking to anyone, Noah thought, slumped in the back, his phone in his hand. It was so ironic; his father let him have the phone back when he left, like a week and a half ago, but Noah had no one to call. He sent a text to Amanda, to see how she was doing and found out she and Mike hooked up while he was gone. You just weren't here, she said.

That's nice, he thought, not really caring. Guess that showed how he really felt about the both of them. Some friend and girlfriend. He guessed he deserved it; he got them into the mess that put them together. Jason told him the night before, when he'd let him know, that it wasn't his fault and not to think that. I've been there, he'd said.

So that just confirmed it, huh? Noah put it together, but yeah, he got the confirmation. Did Frankie know her parents cheated on their best friend and boyfriend together? He didn't think it was his business to tell her; she probably knew by now anyway. He leaned back in the porch chair, lifting his cell phone up and studying the empty text message screen. Nothing.

My so-called friends, Noah thought, thinking of his team in New York. He looked up when the back door opened, surprised to see Steve standing there. Joanne smiled at both of them. "I'll get you boys some lemonade."

"I'm fine Mrs. Street," Steve said.

"Oh it's no trouble, both of you talk, I'll just be inside a moment."

Noah looked up at Steve, who looked nervous, raking his fingers through his hair. The blond strands fell down to his shoulders. "Um…I don't want to be forever or anything, but…" he hesitated a second and then sank down into one of the chairs beside Noah. He glanced sideways. "Not to be girlish, but I'm sorry."

You're sorry? Noah scowled. "You broke my nose."

"I didn't break your nose. I fixed it."

Okay, so we can joke, Noah thought, chuckling. He reached to touch at his nose, the bruising faded. It was never broken, just swollen. He dropped his hand down, shrugging. "It's okay."

"No, it's not…look I told you before that Frankie told me what happened. I'm sorry she felt like she had to hide it and let me think otherwise, but…" Steve shrugged. "She's my cousin…more like my little sister and sometimes I get protective."

It's good she has people like that in her life. Noah glanced down at his hands, twisting his phone again. "Yeah, well, whatever. It's over and done with." I really don't want to talk about it ever again.

"Just so you know, Uncle Tim called my dad, he wanted to know what happened. Since my dad is clueless about most everything in the world, he didn't have answers, but…when it comes to Frankie, Tim gets to the bottom of things. Usually he just doesn't care and tries to stay out of drama." Steve shrugged again. His voice dropped. "Figured I'd warn you."

What was that supposed to mean? Was Tim going to be chasing him down through Dillon? "I still have six weeks left in Dillon, do I need to be worried?" he tried to joke. He glanced at Steve again. Steve shrugged, but didn't say anything. "Crap," Noah mumbled, slumping farther down in the chair.

Steve stood up, dropping off the back porch into the grass. He picked up a football, tossing it in his hands. "You know, you can still play football with us, it's not like you're banned."

"Didn't know if you'd told the whole team."

"That my dumb thirteen-year old cousin kissed a guy she has a crush on who is four years older than her and then led everyone to think that he was the one who kissed her? No way." Steve rolled his eyes, but smiled. "They already think she's loony tunes. I don't need to confirm it."

"She's not loony tunes, I think she's lonely."

"She is very lonely," Steve agreed. He sighed. "Otherwise her best friends in Dillon every single summer wouldn't be her cousins. You saw how quick she can get into people's heads. She was in yours within seconds. She just…keeps people away. I think it's like a coping thing."

"What are you a psychologist?"

"Mom listens to those stupid self-help talk show things when she's at home during the day, which is always."

"What's it like having a stripper mom?"

Steve wrinkled his nose, shrugging, throwing the football at Noah, who caught it deftly in his arms, tossing it around his back and down towards Steve again. "It's like having a mom. Except when you're in elementary school and it's career day, things can get awkward fast when you find out one of her 'regular friends' as she called them, happened to be your principal."

"Yikes."

"She brings home more money than dad, plus controversy is always fun when people try to make a stink about it at town meetings and stuff," Steve said. He made a face. "They don't like the Coach's wife being a stripper, but Mom says she won't ever stop. She likes it and she makes money."

"My mom's a nurse, so I guess I can't talk about stuff like that."

Steve threw the football again. "Lyla, Frankie's mom? She's head trainer for the Washington Redskins."

"No shit?"

"Shit. Gets free tickets, can talk all about who is injured and stuff. She's not a doctor, but she's close. Has all these crazy degrees and stuff. She came to talk to us when she was here, you missed it." Steve jumped back up onto the porch. He nodded towards the house. "Think you're up to finding Frankie?"

Not particularly. He shook his head, dropping the football onto the porch, following Steve into the house. "No. I think I still need to give her some space, I was…I was kind of harsh on her. Told her some things she should probably stop doing and…" He sighed. Maybe they were necessary but…they were still a lot for one person to take. "I just think I should wait."

Steve shrugged. "Suit yourself, but her mom left a few days ago, so…if you want to find her, she'll probably be moping around somewhere near the house. By the way…" he squinted. "Did you put her name in to sing the National Anthem?"

Wouldn't everyone like to know that? Noah flashed a smile. "I don't know, but someone did. She wouldn't have done it herself."

Steve smiled. He opened up the front door, turning and leaning against the door again. "It's cool if you put her name in, I was the one that had to drop one of her paintings off in the mail to Matt Saracen, because she was too chicken to call him and do it herself." He laughed. "She can be kind of ballsy, but she's also insecure."

More than insecure, Noah thought, waving goodbye to Steve, who took off in his black truck. He waited, turning and calling to his grandmother, who was still getting their lemonade together, along with cookies, he thought he'd heard her say a second ago. "I'm going to find Frankie!" He didn't wait for her response, grabbing his bike and taking off.

Several minutes later, he coasted to a stop in front of the hardware store, spying Tim's truck parked out front. He didn't bother locking the bike, going inside and searching around, finding Tim out back, holding one of those metal clipboard things that could store stuff inside, scribbling something on a sheet. "Here you go," Tim said, removing a piece of paper and passing it off to the guy Noah recognized as the owner. He offered his hand. "Pleasure doing business with you."

"One of these days Riggins I'm going to call the cops on you. You're taking me for everything."

Tim flashed a smile. "I don't break laws anymore." He tapped the bottom of the paper with his pen. "My fee."

"Ripping me off Riggins."

"I take cash and a check with two forms of ID," Tim said, saying bye to the guy after he caught sight of Noah out of the corner of his eye. He walked over, tucking the clipboard under his arm, frowning slightly at Noah, but he didn't say anything, leading him out of the hardware store and to his truck. He opened one of the back doors, glancing at him again. "What's up Noah? Is your dad back in New York?"

"Yeah," Noah whispered. He waited a second, his voice soft. This wasn't the best place, but he wanted to get it over with before he saw Frankie. "Look I wanted to tell you…"

"Frankie told me what happened." Tim closed the door, nodding towards the other side of the truck. "Put your bike in the back, we'll go for a ride."

Um…am I going to come back after the ride, Noah wondered, but did as he was told, putting his bike in the bed of the truck beside various pallets and boxes of construction equipment. He frowned, wondering what Tim did for a living. He climbed up front, attached his seatbelt and glanced sideways. "Um…so what do you do? For a job?"

"I get things," Tim said. He changed the subject instantly. "Frankie told me what happened between you guys."

He frowned, glancing sideways again. Seriously? He barely told his father anything about his love life, but Frankie would be willing to tell her dad? That didn't seem right. "What?" he whispered.

"Well she didn't tell me the whole story, she waited until I left and told her mom every little detail and her mom filled the blanks for me," Tim said. He turned at a stop sign, heading off towards the other side of town; Noah didn't know this area. It was going east. "But basically, I know what she did and what she led Steve to believe. I'm not apologizing for her, but I just wanted you to know that you did a good thing by not ratting her out or embarrassing her in front of everyone by telling everyone, so thanks for that."

That's it? Noah shrugged; this was awkward. "Sure. Whatever."

"You can still hang out with her."

He shook his head, wondering where they were going. "No. It's probably for the best, what are we doing?" He changed the subject, not wanting to discuss Frankie anymore. Especially with her father. He lifted his eyebrows. "What's going on?"

"Thought I'd bring you somewhere…different." Tim pulled the truck into a parking space in front of a bar, with 'Buddy's' in scripted lighting on the roof. He flashed a grin. "Come on."

"But it's only like two."

"He'll be open."

"If my dad finds out I'm at a bar…" He swallowed hard; Jason would have a field day. He thought of the phone in his pocket. He'd totally lose that again for sure.

Tim opened the door, taking off his sunglasses and hooking them into the collar of his button-down plaid shirt. "Go inside, I'm not an idiot, you're not drinking." He followed him inside, patting a space at the bar. "Sit." He went around the side and called into the back. "Buddy! I'm here, getting something."

"Out in a sec!" Buddy yelled from what sounded like an upstairs room. Probably an office, Noah thought, hopping onto one of the vinyl stools. He looked over his shoulder at the rest of the bar; it wasn't bad. Not like a dive or anything, but it definitely wasn't a family place.

Tim reached underneath the bar, removing a frosted glass and a can of Coke. "Oh I don't like…" Noah trailed off, reaching for the Coke when Tim squinted at him. He swallowed. "Thanks."

"You're welcome. Don't tell Frankie. Or her mom," Tim said, reaching for a bottle of beer. He squinted again. "You can drive, right?"

"Not stick," Noah said, thinking of Tim's fancy truck out front.

"Damnit." Tim placed the bottle into the cooler, looking sideways as Buddy walked out. He jerked his thumb towards Noah. "Found someone to help you in the back." He looked at Noah again. "You can follow directions, right?"

"Depends on the directions."

Buddy shook his head. "Tim, I told you, Noah can't help with the addition because he's going to be teaching your brother's team what a record-setting offense is all about. Him and your nephew are damn good together." He turned to Noah again. "You want to live in Dillon? We can find you a place if your grandparents won't…"

"I'm not moving to Dillon Mr. Garrity," Noah said, smiling. He sipped at the glass of Coke, frowning slightly. He hated soda. Which was ironic, because he loved beer. He looked at Tim, who reached beneath the bar and took out a glass, squirting tonic water into it from one of the nozzles on the tap. He made a face. "You like that stuff?"

Tim looked down at the fizzy water and then back up at Noah, his voice soft. "I think you and I know that when you have a bit too much, sometimes anything will do, even if it's not what you want." He cocked his head, his voice quiet. "Right Noah?"

Right, he immediately thought. He ducked his head, not wanting to look at Tim's knowing look. Yeah. When you had a lot to drink and couldn't have what you wanted, sometimes anything would do if you conned yourself into it. But you always knew it wasn't what you wanted. "Right," he whispered. He twirled his glass around while Tim made a face, drinking the tonic water. "So…" He looked up again. "So you know…I know I told you, but…but did you know before I told you? About my drinking? My dad told you, right?"

"Might have made a mention to it," Tim said. He rolled his eyes. "Look Noah, I'm not your father. I'm someone's father and do I want her running around doing everything her mother and I did when we were her age? Hell no." He laughed. "Will she do it no matter what I say? Yes."

Wait…what? He frowned, looking up again. "Seriously?"

"Of course. I tell her no, she does it…" Tim moved his hands from one side to another, like he was moving boxes. He looked up again. "I tell her it's good to go…she still does it. See what I'm saying? All I can do is make sure she doesn't overdo it." He pointed to him. "Just like I'm going to make sure you don't overdo it." He reached over on the bar for a Buddy's card, removing a pen from a jar on top of the register. He scribbled on the back, speaking. "So when you get too much to drink and you need something…"

Tim flicked the card to him. Noah took it, staring at the three phone numbers. Tim tapped them, speaking softly. "The house phone, my cell phone, and that's Lyla's phone. Someone can get me."

"But…like a sponsor?" Noah wasn't sure of this, but…it seemed to make sense. He shrugged. "Okay. I guess."

"Your dad won't say this and hell, I'm not going to say it to my kid, but…" Tim leaned on the bar, grinning. "Have a good time. You only live once. But when this stuff…" He picked up a bottle, swinging it from side to side. "Starts becoming more than having fun…you got a problem."

"Yeah, I know." Noah raked his hands through his hair, leaning his elbows on the bar. He lifted his eyes again. Tim was still looking at him. "You going to tell my dad it's bad?"

"No. You can tell him." Tim shrugged again, taking another sip of his tonic water, making another face. He scowled at the glass. "My wife got me drinking this stuff. Ugh."

Wife. "Ex-wife?" Noah corrected.

"Whatever." Tim dumped the water, shoving his car keys into his back pocket. He glanced to the door, Buddy coming back out, holding a stack of files in his hands. "What's that?"

"Paperwork."

"I'm not doing that."

"No one said you were! Where's my granddaughter?"

"She does your paperwork?"

"She's got a brain, doesn't she? Doesn't charge me much either."

Tim scowled. "She charges you for paperwork? How much you losing?"

Noah looked back and forth as Tim and Buddy went back and forth, finally coming to an agreement where Tim would get a percentage of what Frankie got for doing Buddy's paperwork. In return, she'd get a small part of that for doing Tim's paperwork. He finished his drink, looking over his shoulder when the door opened, Frankie wandering inside. "Hey," he greeted her, hoping this wouldn't be awkward.

She stopped, holding a giant portfolio under one arm and her guitar case on another. "Hello," she said. She set both cases on the bar. "Can I get a Shirley Temple Grandpa? Extra cherries please."

Noah's eyes widened in surprise as Buddy, who had been a bit contentious a moment before with Tim, instantly softened, puttering around getting her the drink. He stared at the pink drink set before Frankie a minute later. "That looks pinker than it should be."

"I like grenadine," Frankie said.

"It looks like a Barbie Doll drink," Tim said. He reached into it and snatched a floating cherry, tossing it into his mouth. "So," he said a second later, reaching for the portfolio. "Whatcha' doing here kid? Did you bring me something?"

"No." Frankie sipped her drink, not moving when Tim opened up the portfolio. She sighed, twirling her stir stick around in the glass. "That's for Grandpa."

"Oh I love it baby!" Buddy exclaimed, removing the canvas of various Panther memorabilia. It looked like it had been cemented on. There were tons of different articles, photos, and blue and yellow colors. It was a collage, but…it seemed like it was all one layer. Noah reached into the portfolio, removing a sketch. "Oh Frankie! Is that your momma?" Buddy asked.

Frankie flushed, trying to grab the picture, but Noah held it out of her reach. It was Lyla, looking over her shoulder, grinning. It was done in pencil and looked like an actual picture. "Wow," Tim whispered, taking it from Noah. He looked at Frankie. "Can I have this?"

"That's not creepy at all Dad."

"I'll frame it, give it to her for Christmas or something from you."

"Still creepy."

I should probably get going, Noah thought, looking at Frankie, who was giggling at something her grandfather had just told her. Tim was trying to see more paintings and pictures in the portfolio, Buddy was talking about putting her as an installation at the bar for live music or something, and Frankie was lapping up the attention. He slipped off the stool, walking to the door.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa…" Tim closed the door, turning him back around. "Where do you think you're going? If I have to sit here and listen to Frankie practice, then you get to sit and listen. You're the one who put her name in for the anthem."

"How do you know that was me?" Crap. Who told?

"I'm observant," Tim whispered, pushing him back onto the stool.

Frankie looked up from tuning her guitar. "Dad, no one has ever said you're observant. You're usually the most oblivious person in the world."

"I am too observant!" He pointed to her. "I knew your mom was pregnant with you before she did." Buddy snorted, counting change into the register. Tim glared at him. "Something to say Buddy?"

"Nope." He closed the register, clapping his hands together. "Okay Frankie…"

Frankie squinted at her grandfather, which had him trailing off, cocking his head at her. She looked at Tim, who was watching her. "So tell me Grandpa, when Mom came back to Dillon, what was the big deal?" This really doesn't sound like a conversation I need to be here for, Noah thought, sliding off the stool, but Tim reached over and pushed him back down again. Or not, he thought, glancing at Frankie, who continued with her line of questioning. "Mom told me that you never went to college Dad, that she didn't like that. So why'd she stay the second time?"

Noah glanced at Tim, who sighed, setting his glass down on the counter. He shrugged, his voice quiet. "She got over it. Realized it wasn't as bad as she thought it was going to be and…and she wanted to stay so she stayed."

"So if I didn't go to college, she wouldn't get mad?"

I wish my parents had that philosophy. He wanted to play football in the big leagues, which meant he had to go to college to get noticed. Noah glanced at Frankie again. She cleared her throat. "Because I want to do that art program thing. And Matt said that I can go to Italy to study."

"I think that your mother will let you do whatever it is that you want to do," Tim chose to say. He nodded towards the amplifier and speaker setup over on the small stage off the dance floor. "Why don't you go set up? We can talk about your mother and I later."

Buddy clapped his hands together again. "Let's go Frankie."

A look of nervousness crossed Frankie's self-assured features. The insecurity was coming back out again. "I really don't think…"

Kid needed a confidence boost. Noah piped up, swiveling on the stool, grinning. If they weren't going to be hanging out as much, then he was going to enjoy what little time they were together. "Come on, let's see if your guitar playing is as good as your voice." Even if he knew it was. He looked back at Tim, who was just smiling, watching Frankie carefully. "She's really good, have you heard her?" he asked.

Tim nodded, his voice quiet. "Yeah," he whispered. He looked down at his hands, lifting his eyes back up to peer through a shock of hair that fell into his eyes. He pushed it aside, nodding towards Frankie as she hooked the electric guitar into the amplifier. "Ethan didn't get her that, I did."

But…he frowned, turning around completely. "But she said Ethan got it for her."

Tim shrugged again. He dragged his finger along the bar, reaching for a coaster, dragging it back. "It was a Christmas gift. She didn't need to know it came from me…she was…having problems with him. Figured it would help." He smiled at Frankie, who was giggling as Buddy made some joke to her. The smile positively beamed. "She's happy." The smile fell and he looked back at Noah. "I'd appreciate it if you kept this between us."

Yeah sure, whatever. Noah nodded; whatever went on between Tim and his daughter was between Frankie and him. He turned around again, listening as Frankie started singing, playing her guitar. She was happy, turning in circles and jumping around, her singing falling away and just playing the guitar.

They'd be fine, he thought, turning and picking up her half-empty Shirley Temple, taking a sip of the overly pink drink. He made a face, reaching and grabbing a bunch of cherries, dropping them into the glass as he turned again, listening to Frankie be happy.


	17. Not Goodbye

_**Chapter 17: Not Goodbye**_

I cannot believe it's time for me to go already, Noah thought, standing outside of the security gate. He had his backpack on, his suitcase was already off to the airplane and he stood with his phone, ticket, and ID in hand. He sighed, glancing back at his grandparents. "Guess it's time," he said. He was really going to miss them. He smiled, sadly. "I promise I'll call when I get to New York."

"Call when you land," Joanne said, tugging down his button down shirt, to go with his jeans and the cowboy boots that they'd gotten him as a going away present. His friends were going to wonder what the hell happened to him when they saw him again. She wiped at her eyes. "And call when you get home. I want to make sure you're safe."

I'll be with Mom and Dad, he thought, chuckling, breaking from her to give his grandfather a tight hug. Mitchell pulled back, lighting knocking his knuckles against his shoulder. "You play well this year, we'll try to make it to one of your games. Pick Texas, if they're offering you anything."

Noah grinned wide; Texas schools would have been last on his list if they offered a scholarship, but now they were definitely ranking at the topic. "Will do sir." He looked around, his smile falling when he realized that that was it. He'd had a big party a couple of nights ago with the team and the Riggins clan, to say goodbye, but…he kind of expected to at least see one other person. He gave them one more hug, saying he loved them and would miss them, stepping away and walking towards the TSA checkpoint. He was about to pass over his ID for inspection when he heard someone yell his name. "Street!"

Noah turned his head, laughing when he saw Frankie running down the corridor, Tim trying to catch up with her. She was waving something and holding something against her hip. "Hang on," he said to the TSA guy, breaking away from the short line and running towards Frankie. He stopped hard, frowning at her. "What? You have to say goodbye in a dramatic fashion too?"

"Sure," she said, grinning. He hadn't seen her in a couple of weeks; she'd been busy playing at Buddy's Bar and focusing on her painting, calming down a bit from the Fourth of July event. He knew she'd also been talking with Tyra, kind of like a shrink, on her mother's advice that it would be best. He thought it was best. He was glad that she was here to say goodbye, he didn't want to leave without it. Frankie beamed up at him, passing him the paper wrapped…thing. "This is for you. Dunno if you can bring it with you."

"Probably not."

"Okay, fine, I'll mail it, here." Frankie turned, shoving it at Tim, who grunted under the force of the object. She rose on her toes; dirty red Chucks, Noah didn't even have to look, and gave him a tight hug. "I'm sorry," she whispered into his ear, falling back to her feet. She smiled again, her eyes crinkling slightly. "But thanks…I needed a kick in the ass."

"You did," he agreed. He glanced at the rollerbag suitcase he had with him, looking at her. In a split second, he'd made a decision, kneeling and unzipped it, removing one of the top shirts on top, unfolding it and passing it to her. "This is for you."

"Gross, did you wash it?"

"Yes, I washed it, geez."

Frankie held up his jersey against her, grinning. "Really?"

"Really," he said. He smiled down at her; she was an annoying little kid, but…he did love her. He tweaked her nose. "Good luck Frankie, with everything…your parents, your music, all of it." He licked his lips, knowing this probably wouldn't be the last time he'd see her, so he wasn't sure why he felt so emotional right now. He smiled again, leaning to give her another hug, squeezing her hard. Like a doll, he thought, her toes dusting the top of his boots when he lifted her slightly.

She clutched him, her cheek on his shoulder. "It's been a fun summer," she mumbled. She let go and he put her back on her feet. When she looked up, he saw that she was trying not to cry. "I'm sorry I almost ruined it, but…" She smiled again. "I promise I will try not to be that annoying the next time."

"Next time? Who says there will be a next time?"

"You can't say goodbye to Dillon. You'll be back," Frankie vowed. She laughed, shaking her head, red curls flying. "And I'll come visit you. Washington, D.C. really isn't that far away from New York City."

Oh God, that's right. Just a train ride. Crap. Noah rolled his eyes dramatically. "I'll make sure I'm out of town." He smiled again, much more serious. His voice dropped. "Call me though, if you…just want to talk. About your parents, your cousins…whatever. I'm a friend, Frankie. I promise."

A friend, he hoped she'd understand, seeing her eyes light up again. She was still thirteen after all. The smile fell and she nodded, understanding. Frankie crossed her arms over her chest, digging her toe into the linoleum. "I've gotta' go, Dad's already annoyed I made him drive me out here. I only have a few more days before I'm going back to D.C." She tucked her hair behind her ear, whispering. "I don't know what happened, but…I think I might have made some progress." She giggled. "Mom and Dad are talking more on the phone."

That's great Frankie. Noah tweaked her nose. "Tell your cousins if they keep calling you Squeak that they'll have to deal with me. I'll make sure that we play on opposing teams."

"You're all offense, you'll never play each other."

"I'll make the switch to defense."

"No way, you're the best fullback in the entire world," Frankie exclaimed.

About ten feet away, talking with the Streets, Tim whipped his head up. "What did you just say?" he called. He tapped his ear. "Because it sounded like my daughter, the light of my life, the apple of my eye, just said that someone other that her loving father is the best fullback in the world!"

"I gotta' go, he's gonna' kill me," Frankie said, grinning. She reached again, hugging him. "Bye Noah."

"Goodbye Frankie." Noah let go of her and waved to everyone else, taking his stuff and going back to the TSA attendant. He passed everything over, walking by the checkpoint and turned, waving one last time before he forced himself to walk behind the partition, blocking them from his view.

A couple of hours later, as the plane took off, Noah peered out his window, staring as the tiny town of Dillon disappeared from view. He leaned back in his chair, smiling and closed his eyes. Hopefully not for very long.

About a week later, the package arrived from Frankie. "What is it?" Erin asked, helping him remove the packing tape and the bindings around it. "Is it a painting?"

"I have no idea." Noah reached in, removing a stretch of canvas. He turned it around, setting it against the wall and took a step back. Erin covered her mouth, gasping. Wow. He stared at the photograph of him, Frankie, and the Riggins brothers, all were sitting on the bleachers near the football field. They were all dirty, sweaty, and wearing football gear, with Frankie sitting between them all, holding the football. He remembered this. Buddy had taken it. He didn't think anything of it, but…wow.

"How did she do this?" Erin asked.

Frankie had taken the photo, done a bunch of photoshop stuff on it to make it look older and worn, but the blue still managed to stand out. She had stretched it out over the canvas, the edges worn dark, like a frame within a frame. It was awesome. "I have no idea," he mumbled.

"I'm putting this in your room, we'll get it framed," Erin said, taking the picture and walking off, marveling at it.

Meanwhile, Noah grabbed his cell phone, dialing Frankie. "Yup, yup," she said, answering. "What's going on?"

"How did you do that with the photo?"

"Magic. You got it?"

"I did. It's awesome. Thanks." He sighed. "Really good work Frankie."

"Thanks. So did you hear the news?" Frankie popped a gumball, giggling. That was good news, she was so happy, Noah thought, his eyes widening slightly, expecting it to be something stupid. She giggled loudly again. "I'm moving back to Texas! For real! Mom got a job with the Dallas Cowboys!"

A swell of happiness filled up in his heart. "Good for you," he said, chuckling, walking up the steps of their Brooklyn loft to his bedroom. He propped the phone on his ear, wading through the mess in his room to get to the window, pushing it open and crawling out onto the fire escape, which was his little bit of an escape. "When do you move?"

"Not until the end of the first semester, but get this, the rents' talked and they're letting me go to Chicago! I got into the school with Matt Saracen, in Chicago and I start in January. I'm going to live in a dorm with a bunch of other kids, but one of my teachers is Matt Saracen, he's one of the guys…"

"That played football with our dads, yeah I know, I met him remember?" Noah leaned against the grate, closing his eyes, listening to the sounds of New York. Or rather, Brooklyn, which in this neighborhood, was actually relatively quiet. From his vantage point, he had a great view of the Brooklyn Bridge, looming in the distance, all lit up for the early evening. He smiled, his voice quiet. "I should go Frankie. Be nice to your mom, okay?"

"I'm always nice to her."

Sure, sure you are. Noah chuckled, said goodbye to the little pipsqueak, and disconnected, draping his arms over his knees. He closed his eyes, sighing and savored the feeling of being back. But hell, he'd never openly admit it, but…He sighed, voicing out loud, since he was alone. "I kind of miss her," he said. He shook his head. It was like missing a very loud and very annoying pet.

He'd see her soon enough. His phone buzzed and he glanced down. It was Steve, wanting to know if he planned on coming to town for Christmas. Noah sent back a text, saying he'd think about it. He leaned back again, slumping down and closed his eyes, smiling.

What a great summer, he thought.


	18. Epilogue

**A/N:**Last chapter! Enjoy and thanks so much for the reviews, I really appreciate the feedback. I do have a 'sequel' into the works, which follows an older Frankie around and flashes back to her childhood, but since there's so many original characters that have larger roles than the actual FNL characters I'm not sure this is the forum for it, but I'll finish some more and try posting it, so see if there's interest. Again, thanks for the reviews and enjoy :)

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_**Chapter 18: Epilogue**_

_Ten Years Later_

It's so weird to be back, Noah thought, driving down the Texas highway, the top down on the rental Mustang convertible he'd gotten at the Hertz counter in Midland. He just felt like having something fun. It was only for a couple of days, even if it wasn't the most practical car.

He blew by the Texas-shaped sign welcoming him to Dillon, smiling and leaning his head back, letting the wind whip through the thick strands of his reddish-brown hair; he needed a haircut but figured he'd be having too much fun goofing off this weekend that worrying about his hair wouldn't be a big deal.

The road narrowed, turning into town. He remembered driving through this for the first time when he was seventeen. Hard to believe that was ten years ago. He saw not that much had changed. In fact it seemed relatively the same, except there were just more modern signs. Buddy Garrity's name seemed to be on a bit more stores and sponsorships though, he thought with a chuckle.

Where to first, he wondered; he was in town for his best friend's wedding. Steve was getting married in a couple of days. "Can't believe the media isn't here," Noah wondered out loud. Steve had taken his insane arm and speed to UT, where he won a National Championship and was a first-round pick in the draft. He'd somehow become known to the world as "America's Quarterback", branded by a good PR firm and agent. None other than Jason Street himself, Noah thought with a smile, passing a sign of Steve advertising for Nike.

"Let's stop by the house," Noah said out loud, driving by the old street where his grandparents used to live; about a year after his summer with them. They sold the store and retired to a beach-house in South Carolina. He kept driving, until he was pulling through a set of iron gates and up to the farmhouse, now sprawling, on the hill.

He parked his Mustang behind a fancy Audi SUV and Tim's equally fancy, but American, truck. Noah left his things in the car, walking up to the front porch. He knocked hard on the door, waiting a second. He frowned, knocking again.

It swung back, revealing Lyla, standing there in leggings, bare feet, and an oversized Dillon Panthers jersey with '33' on the front. "Whose number is that?" he teased, knowing full well that it was a Riggins jersey.

Her face lit up in a wide smile. "Hey!" Lyla exclaimed, reaching one arm up around his neck to give him a hug, holding her toddler son under her other. He was babbling away, his hands going a mile a minute. She laughed loudly, tossing her hair out of her face, beaming in happiness. "What are you doing here? Come inside, come inside! Sorry I'm an absolute mess…"

Women, he thought; his mother would have said the same thing even if she were wearing a ball gown. "You're fine," he said, stepping into the house. He turned and waved at TJ, who was gaping up at him with wide eyes. "Hey TJ," he said, quickly moving his hand in a sign for TJ's name.

The little boy smiled, replying with the same sign. "Good boy," Lyla praised him, signing and mouthing her words. She laughed when TJ made a sign, looking back at Noah. She gestured to her son, still smiling. "He says that you're the guy on the TV. The one with the hair."

"Yeah…" Noah laughed, shaking his hand through his long hair. It was down to his shoulders. He shrugged. "I've been meaning to get it cut." He asked TJ how he was, the three-year old replying that he was good. "He knows a lot," he said, awed at the way the little boy moved his tiny hands, communicating with Lyla.

"It's odd, the doctor says that because he's deaf and we have to teach him signs that he actually has a larger vocabulary than most children his age," Lyla said, tucking a lock of TJ's thick dark hair behind his ear. His hearing aid became visible when she pushed the hair back. TJ turned to smile at her. Lyla kissed his forehead, hoisting him up on her hip. "Come on into the kitchen Noah, I'll get you something to drink and then I'll go change, I'm a mess."

"I told you, you look fine. I'm the one intruding."

Noah may as well not have said anything as Lyla continued. "I was cleaning…it's off-season as you obviously know. I have a deal at the stadium that I don't…" Lyla set TJ in the living room, the toddler running off to a corner of the room, which was full of toys. She pulled her hair back into a knot on her head. "So I have a deal, in the off-season I let my associates deal with the rehab and the injuries and all that, but come August first when they're back in training, I'm right there on the field." She blew a stray strand of hair from her eyes, still smiling. She reached to give him another hug. "Oh it's so good to see you! I knew we would, but this is such a surprise, you got an early flight?"

"I did actually," Noah said. He looked at a painting hanging over the fireplace. His mouth fell and he walked towards it, almost tripping on TJ, who scooted right in front of him. "Wow," he whispered, reaching to touch the edge of the giant canvas. It was beautiful. He wasn't even sure what to make of the colors. It was blurry, like you were looking at it through an upside down glass. It was the house, but…it was blurry, he thought again. "This is Frankie." It was a statement.

"Yeah, she did that for an art show a few years ago. I bought it," Lyla laughed, her hands going to her hips. She touched the corner. "Look at the color blending. She's so good at that."

"Yeah, she is." He looked around the living room. It was so lived in, he thought again. He hadn't been back here in God knew how long. He always did like this house. "So I heard the ceremony will be outside, huh?"

Lyla rolled her eyes, reaching to pick up a duster on a breakfront behind the couch. "Yes, well, that's what the cleaning was supposed to be about, but my loving husband dumped me with our son for the day. He's off doing Lord knows what with Billy and Steve."

"Poor Steve."

"He'll survive, Gracie will kick his ass if anything happens." She crossed her arms over her chest, smiling again, her big dark eyes meeting his. "So Frankie is in town. She's actually out right now, if you were dropping by to see her."

Noah shrugged. "I was just coming by to see you or Tim, actually. See TJ. I think he was like six months old or something the last I saw him."

Lyla held her finger for him to pause, turning and clapping her hands together loudly. TJ instantly lifted his head, stepping away from the kitchen. She signed quickly and he smiled, signing back. She rolled her eyes, gesturing towards his toys, silently signing a command, which he apparently followed, returning to the play area and away from the kitchen. "Sorry about that," she apologized. She signed as she said it, sighing. She pointed to her hand. "Sorry about that. It's a habit. It's how Tim and I learned to sign, actually, we talked to each other and signed at once."

"Yeah, Frankie told me. I learned a couple, so I could talk to him." He didn't want to ask why TJ was deaf; Frankie had pretty much told him it was because Lyla had so many problems during her pregnancy, mostly complicated by her age. He was born so early, he got sick or something, and when they did a regular checkup on him after he was born, he failed the hearing test. Frankie had been a mess. He'd flown in to help her, shaking his head slightly at the memory of how she'd fallen apart after her parents had brought him home, about two and a half months after he was born.

TJ seemed like he was a bruiser now, playing with a giant Lego set in the corner. Noah glanced at Lyla again, who was just gazing at her son, lost in her world. "So," he said, clearing his throat. "I thought I'd drop by and say hey…if Frankie stops by just let her know…"

"Mom! You lied, they didn't have Yoo-Hoo! I'm so mad, I told you I would have brought…" Frankie trailed off, stopping in the kitchen, holding a few bags of groceries. She grinned wide. "Sup' Noah?"

"That's how you say hello? You haven't talked to me in months, are you still pissed?"

"I am pissed."

"Language," Lyla warned, nodding towards TJ, who was watching them.

Frankie made a face. "He can't hear me Mom."

"Francesca!" Lyla looked appalled. She rolled her eyes a second later, when all Frankie did was stare at her. She mumbled, walking by Frankie to get a cup with Batman on it from the counter. "I don't know where your father and I went wrong…"

Frankie rolled her eyes, leaving the groceries on the counter. She grinned, running towards him and jumping into his arms, planting a smacking kiss on his lips. Noah grinned, kissing her back. "What are you doing here so early?" she asked, dropping to her feet and walking out of the back door.

Noah stopped on the way out the back door, pointing to a photo on the fridge of Frankie making a face with a very familiar looking person wearing rose-tinted sunglasses. "Is that you with Elton John?"

"Yeah, so?"

What the hell Frankie? He shook his head, sighing and walking by the fridge. It shouldn't surprise him. She took her fame less seriously than almost everyone he'd ever met. Granted, he hung out with NFL players. Many of them could learn from her. "Just asking. When did you hang with Elton?"

"Earlier this year at the Grammys."

"You were nominated?"

"And lost, but it's no big deal, I'll get one eventually, not that I care." Frankie jumped off the porch, turning quickly and grinning at him. The years had been good to her. The long, frizzy and untamed auburn curls had smoothed out and darkened to a rich brown with slight auburn highlights. She had them pulled back into a ponytail, bouncing on her shoulders. She was never without several bracelets on each wrist and a couple of necklaces. Today she wore a pair of overalls that reached just to her calves and were rolled up slightly. She had a lacy tank top on beneath the overalls.

And she had on red Chucks. Noah knew the sun would always rise in the east, set in the west, and Frankie Riggins would be wearing red Chucks. He nodded towards her shoes. "Those are your trademark."

"I don't have a trademark. It's branding. Aren't you the marketing guy?"

"Agent," Noah corrected. He'd gone to school after his stint in the NFL, gotten his law degree, and was working in sports management, just like dear old Dad. They ran Intersection Sports Management. Street and Street. Intersection. Jason thought it was clever. Noah didn't really care; he just wanted his paycheck. He poked at her ribs. "So you're not touring? When's the new album come out?"

"I don't know, call my agent." She walked away from the house, sighing, and her voice quiet. "I dumped Aiden."

He stopped, looking sideways at her sad look. "I'm sorry," he said, truthfully. He waited a second, but Frankie didn't elaborate. He sighed. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Didn't want to deal with you saying 'I told you so.'"

I wouldn't have said that. She shot him a dark look. He shrugged. Okay, maybe he would have. "I told you that he wasn't in it for the long haul, didn't I? He was like a million years older than you, played in a rock band…"

"So? He had money and I had money, I didn't understand what went wrong until I walked into my apartment and found him with a groupie in his lap. And she wasn't sitting there."

"Disgusting."

"On my couch!" Frankie shook her head, scowling again. "It's okay. I slashed his tires on his Ferrari, broke his guitar, sold the apartment, and blackballed the bitch in her modeling agency."

"How did you do that?" Frankie didn't get along with models. He'd learned that the hard way when in his first year of the NFL, dating a Victoria's Secret model, and Frankie decided to drop by his South Beach beachhouse unannounced. He'd never seen a woman lose so much hair before in a fight. Frankie had a mean grip.

She shrugged, nonchalant. "Just told some of the girls that she ate carbs." She grinned at his frown. "No…it wasn't that easy. It's a long story, but she won't be walking the runway anytime soon."

"You're mean."

"I am adorable," Frankie corrected him. She leaned against his shoulder, her head resting against it. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, tugging her closer as they walked to the pond. She sighed again. "So I've been hanging with my parents for the last week. I've never seen two adults with that much PDA. It's disgusting."

"It's all you ever wanted as a kid," he laughed.

"You have a change of heart when you see your fifty-year old parents going at it in the hallway." She lifted her eyebrow. They both grinned and she shrugged again. "It's gross, but I'm glad they're happy. They could have told me they were getting married again."

"We've been through this Frankie." For about two years she was grouchy about how they'd eloped without doing a big wedding ceremony or even telling her that they were dating again. Not until they sat her down, at twenty years old and said they were having another baby. Frankie gave them the wedding that they deserved the year before, paying for everything and playing the music with her band, Gridiron.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, so how is New York?"

"It's New York. I grew up there, there's no change." He let go of her, turning around and grinning, grabbing her elbows and pushing her back slightly, taking her hands and lifting them up. He played with her fingers for a second, looking down at her various rings. "So…" he drawled, tossing his hair from his eyes. He glanced at the house, speaking quietly. "You still doing the whole singing thing?"

"My band rocks," Frankie said. He took that to mean yes. She blew her bangs out of her eyes, meeting his for a brief second. "I'm still doing the art thing. Dylan Garrity is my pseudonym. It's fun being a different person."

"I always knew you had a split personality."

"No, just two different interests that I wanted to pursue. Frankie Garrity is lead singer and guitarist of Gridiron, a rock band in every sense of the world and Dylan Garrity is a painter with a sad soul and need to express herself, but who happens to be an agoraphobic and never attends her gallery openings or art events or auctions." Frankie flashed a grin; her teeth had evened out too, he noticed. Maybe she got braces. "But Francesca Riggins…"

"Frankie Riggins," he whispered. No one ever called her Francesca. Except her mother. If he remembered right, Tim only called her Francesca once in his presence. She'd sung a party anthem type of song she'd written about him called "No Regrets." It hit the top of the charts within weeks of its release. He'd been furious.

She lifted her eyebrows. "Yes, Frankie Riggins," she whispered. She tossed her hair out of her eyes again. They scanned the land around them, her feet shifting on the dock, the old wood creaking beneath their feet. She met his eyes again. "I feel like I have a split personality a lot of times. Three different people."

"It's all you. You just don't let everyone see it."

"Yeah," she murmured, letting go of his hands. She shoved hers into her pockets, rocking back on her heels, looking up at him again. "So are you here with someone?"

"Naw. No one can tie me down."

"You drinking?"

Noah ran his thumb over the chip in his pocket. He shook his head. "No." He'd let that get out of control in college, losing all he'd learned before. Now he was paying for it by never having another drink again. If he could help it, at least. Which he could. Tim was basically his sponsor.

"Good." Frankie reached to fix her ponytail, walking by him to the edge of the pond. She stared down into it, looking like an overgrown child in her overalls and red Chucks, with a long swinging ponytail. She turned around again. "So you know that Steve and Gracie are getting married."

"That's why I'm here? I forgot."

"Shut up." She ran her tongue over her teeth, chuckling. "I wanted to marry you. Back when I was thirteen. I had that terrible crush on you. Kissed you. Remember?"

"Of course I remember. I thought I'd broken the law or something," he laughed. He was seventeen, not eighteen, not like it mattered to him. She had been such a little kid to him. He stepped closer to her. "Why do you bring that up?"

"Just thinking about it. Steve and Gracie were about sixteen when they met. They've known each other as long as us."

Where was this going, Noah wondered, stepping closer to her. His toes basically touched hers. He reached his hands to her shoulders. Her hands went to his hips. "So?" he asked again.

Frankie cocked her head, an eyebrow arching. She may as well have said 'duh' like he was a kid again. "So? I'm just saying, four years is not that big of a difference for us now. Maybe we should give it a shot. We know everything about each other. My parents knew each other longer before they got together."

"And mine didn't know each other at all, what's your point?"

"My point is, let's see if this thing works. It'll save us a lot of heartache and drama later on," Frankie said. Her voice softened, no longer as nonchalant. She swallowed hard. "I mean…my parents barely got time to be together without a kid before they had another one coming along. Now they're all old."

"They're not even fifty."

"Doesn't matter, they don't get that twenty years they were apart back. I don't want that to happen if this thing…" She waved her hand between the two of them. "If it's something else other than friendship."

She had a point. Noah sighed, looking up at the sky. This was not what he had planned when he came to the house today. But Frankie had never stuck to plans or been predictable. And it made sense…fine. What could it hurt? He shrugged a shoulder, whispering. "One kiss. That'll be it. We'll see if there's…something."

"Sparks?" she teased. He didn't say anything, not wanting to joke. Her smile fell, realizing the seriousness of the situation. She swallowed again. Nervous now. "Sorry. Okay…so we kiss, right?"

We kiss. He'd kissed before. God knew how many women he'd kissed in his life. This was just…this was Frankie! Might as well just…just see…okay, here we go, he thought, breaking deep. She stepped even closer, her hands on his shoulders. He dropped his to her waist, feeling awkward. "Just do it," she mumbled.

"I don't need you pressuring me! Okay." He took another breath, closing his eyes and leaning in. Just do it Noah, his conscience yelled. Fine! He barely touched his lips to hers. Okay. Part one done. Now…oof, he thought, Frankie grabbing the back of his head hard, yanking him in. Okay, no more pleasantries, he supposed. She pressed her lips against his, hard. Ouch.

He returned the kiss, not wanting her to have complete control, but she kept trying. He finally gave into it and after a few seconds, they both pulled away, looking at each other. And they snorted, laughing. She pushed at his chest, unable to stop giggling. Noah reached to push his hands through his hair, almost falling over, he was laughing so hard. "Wow!" he managed to get out.

"That was the worst kiss ever!" Frankie shouted, her arms going back around his neck. She brushed her nose to his, still grinning. "We should never, ever do it again."

Relief washed over him. He wasn't sure what he wanted when they'd kissed, if he wanted there to be something or if he wanted nothing. Now he was glad there was nothing. "We really shouldn't," he laughed, touching his forehead to hers. He smiled wide, pulling back slightly. They were still friends, though, right? "But we can still do this thing between us right?"

"Until you get married."

"Or until you get married."

"I'm never getting married." She spun around with him, lifting her feet of the ground, swinging back and forth. Noah held her up, jumping around with her. After a moment, she set her feet back on the dock. Her hazel eyes met his. They were so deep, he thought, hugging her close. She rested her cheek to his, whispering into his ear. "We should do one of those pacts or something, where we have a kid if we're single by the time we're forty or something. Laboratory way, of course."

He chuckled, hugging her tight. "Yeah, maybe." Neither of them said anything else on it. They wouldn't be in that place, he thought. They were friends, but…that was it. And he was actually glad for it. It meant that they wouldn't ruin this. He pulled away and kissed her lightly on the nose. "You're my best friend Riggs."

She nodded, smiling again. "And you're my best friend Street." She kissed him again, giving him another tight hug before looping her arm through his, beginning to walk slowly back towards the house. She drawled, lifting her eyes to his, sparkling. "So I was thinking…I've got this friend…"

Oh great, here we go. "No friends."

"Come on Noah! You need a woman and we've established that both of us are not compatible in that regard. She's a potter."

"A what?"

"She's a potter, she does pottery, I met her in New Mexico when I went to work with some Navajo potters, she's adorable, I think you'll love her. Her name is Lane…"

"Like walk down a lane?"

"Like walk down a street?" she fired back. He shrugged. Touche. Frankie continued, talking about her potter friend that she wanted to hook him up with, until she stopped on the porch, frowning. "Oh wait, she's gay…nevermind. I'll find another friend for you. I've ironically got like a million now and I never thought I'd say that."

"Well then I'll find a guy for you, in fact, he's coming to the wedding. His mother is the maid-of-honor," Noah said, wiggling his eyebrows and jogging up the steps and onto the porch, turning around. "He might be a little young for you age-wise, but you both have the same maturity level."

It took Frankie a moment before she stomped her foot, figuring it out. "Not Henry Saracen! For one, he's ten! And the ring-bearer!"

I'll find someone for you, one day, Noah thought. There was no one he knew that could tie down Flighty Frankie. He watched her run into the house, swinging her arms around Tim's neck. She was about as tall as him, but he didn't care, leaning his head back to kiss her cheek, patting her arm and requesting she stop strangling him. She immediately bounced to TJ, who was signing madly, shouting her name over and over again.

Okay, he thought, leaning against the doorway. Maybe there was one thing that could keep Frankie still. Sort of. Her family. He smiled, looking over towards the front door, Steve coming in with his brothers. "Best Man!" Steve yelled, walking towards him, arms outstretched. "So what are we doing for the bachelor party?"

"I was thinking a nice tea, maybe a spread, and we can take turns telling stories about our most humiliating moment," Noah drawled. He waited a second, laughing at Steve's horrified face. He punched his best friend's shoulder. "No way man, we're totally going to the…"

"You can't go to The Landing Strip," Tim announced, holding TJ on his hip. He shook his head at their faces. "Mindy's working tonight."

Steve made a vomiting motion while Scott and Ryan looked like they'd actually throw up. "Seriously?" he demanded.

"Not like she's on the pole anymore."

"Uncle Tim!"

Tim shrugged. "Just saying it like it is." He looked at TJ, who was scowling at him. Noah watched, seeing Tim's fingers flying as he silently responded to TJ's silent annoyance that he was being left out of the conversation. He shrugged when TJ continued to scowl. "Suit yourself kid."

They all looked at each other, Scott shrugging. "We can go to Austin."

"That's like five hours away," Ryan protested. He shrugged. "We can hang out at my house. Maybe call some of the strippers over."

"How about no strippers? They all work for Mom."

"This sucks," Noah complained. He nodded towards Steve. "What about some of the guys? They coming?"

"Nope," Steve said, smiling. "Just my brothers and my best friend. My team will be by tomorrow. This is not about Steve the Quarterback, this is about Steve Riggins who is getting married and wants to have a good time. Not that I want to do anything that will make Gracie mad at me, okay?"

That immediately had the twins ribbing him for being terrified of his fiancé, which Steve did not openly admit to, but may as well have confirmed was true. Gracie had a bit of a temper; Noah had witnessed it. Steve was whipped by her and he knew it. But he was insanely in love with her, so Noah forgave him. The three of them headed towards the door, when suddenly Frankie emerged in front of it, blocking their passage.

Her lips quirked in a smile. "I'm coming with you."

"No," one of the twins said. It was a very hard statement. Probably came from Scott, who was the more dominant of the two.

Noah leaned on the door. "Come on Frankie, let us through."

"Let me go with you and I'll let you through the door."

After a standoff, they finally agreed to let her come, because they all knew she wasn't going to leave them alone. She grinned, following them to Ryan's truck, climbing inside, with the twins taking the bed of it while Steve drove, like always. Noah sat in the passenger side and Frankie in the middle. "So Squeak," Ryan said, leaning in through the open window. "You dating anyone? I heard what you did to that Aiden kid, it was in the gossip rags at the checkout."

"And you read those?" Scott hooted.

"No!"

Frankie shoved her aviators on, cracking her gum. "I am not dating anyone."

"You should get with Noah, he's not seeing anyone," Steve joked. He waited a second, screwing up his face. "Wait, maybe not…"

"You don't need to worry about us, because that's never happening," Noah said, looking out the window, smiling as they drove off down the street, the warm yellow fields in front of them, and the breeze blowing comfortably through the open windows, all of them acting like they were kids again. He looked sideways at Frankie, who was humming something. "You singing?"

"Yeah."

"What?"

"Song," Frankie answered. She punched Steve. "I want to test a new song, you will not get angry. It may or may not be about how Gracie is marrying beneath her."

"Whatever you say Squeak."

"Don't call me that."

"Yeah don't call her that," Noah said.

"What are you in love with her?" one of the twins joked.

Frankie tilted her head towards him, finally dropping it to his shoulder. "Yes, he's madly in love with me, but he can never have me. I can't be tamed."

"I think I know someone who might be able to tame you," Ryan said, leaning in through the window again, flashing a smile. "Did you know that Aunt Becky and Uncle Luke's son just graduated from Westpoint? I'm just saying, only person I can think to hook you up with is a straight as an arrow Army guy."

Steve and Noah were already shaking their heads. "She'll kill him," Steve said.

"Drive him to insanity," Noah added.

Frankie put on an innocent face. "I don't know what you're talking about, I'm adorable. Everyone says so."

"And by everyone you mean your dad, who for some reason still doesn't believe that you stole my truck and crashed it into a barn when you were sixteen," Scott said, reaching inside the cab to flick at her ear. Frankie grabbed his hand, twisting it with a crunch. He let out a yelp, retreating back into the bed of the truck. Noah shook his head, chuckling.

Between him and Steve, Frankie just smiled serenely. "I am adorable," she repeated. She sighed, tossing her hair over her shoulder dramatically. "I told you, I just really can't be tamed."

No, you really can't, Noah thought, looking back out the window, his arm around her shoulders. Not that anyone would want a tame Frankie. Or needed one. He smiled, sighing in peace. He loved this place. And hell, ten years ago he was pretty sure he would never say that in his life, but…he really did love it. Texas forever, he thought, his head touching Frankie's, staring out at the wide-open space.

**_THE END_**


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